


A First Time For Everything

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, First Sexual Experience, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Oral Sex, Fluff, Joffrey Is a Total Douche, Loss of Virginity, Martial Arts, Mentions of Past Attempted Sexual Assault, Mixed Martial Arts, Smut, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 51,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: At 20 years of age, Sansa Stark feels like she just might be the world's oldest virgin, thanks to her quest to be the Dutiful Daughter.  After meeting Sandor Clegane, a former professional mixed martial artist and now bouncer at King's Landing Nightclub, her outlook on life and love is about to change...drastically.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fanfiction that I wrote. Please hang in there with me. I promise that once you get through all of the back story and set up, you will be rewarded with plenty of sexy times! 
> 
> Also, I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery and Arya try to talk Sansa into going out on a girl's night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the lovely Sansa Stark!

“C’mon, Sansa,” pleaded Arya, “it’ll be fun!  You never go anywhere or do anything but study!”

“No, Arya,” Sansa huffed as she rolled her eyes, “I’m not going to some ridiculous night club just so you can moon over some boy.  Get another wing-woman.”  Sansa stood quickly and began to walk away from the couch on which she had been sitting with her best friend and roommate, Margaery.  “And, for the record,” Sansa yelled over her shoulder at Arya, “I do have fun.  Lots of fun.”  _Yeah, right._ Sansa thought to herself.  _Nothing is quite as fun as studying eight hours a day when you’re not in class._

“I agree with Arya, Sansa.  You really need a night out,” added Margaery as she rose from the couch and followed slowly to the kitchen where Sansa had retreated.  By this time, Sansa was standing in the small, galley kitchen of the apartment that the two had shared since their freshman year at Westeros University.  With her eyes cast down at the floor, Sansa was leaning against the counter with her arms folded defiantly in front of her chest.  Margaery couldn’t help but smile at Sansa’s posture because she knew that pose - Arya definitely had hit a nerve with Sansa.

“You work so hard, Sansa.  You never go out unless it’s to buy groceries or to visit your parents.  You always have your nose in your books, and when you’re not studying, you’re over at Robb and Jon’s apartment playing mommy to your two older brothers who can’t keep their place clean.”  Margaery noticed that Sansa, who had begun to bite her bottom lip slightly, gave all the signs that she was contemplating what Margaery had said.  So Margaery couldn’t resist going in for the kill.  “Really, Sansa, let’s just go out for one night of fun.  Arya’s right – you so need to get out and get laid!”

Sansa’s eyes widened rapidly as her copper eyebrows virtually shot up to her hairline.  “Wait, _what_?  Ugh, Margaery, getting laid is not the answer to everything!”  Sansa could feel the embarrassed heat blazing across her cheeks and neck.

“It isn’t?” Margaery purred.  Arya burst out laughing as she was entering the kitchen.

“You’re so disgusting sometimes!” Sansa growled, “No, I won’t do it.  I’m not going to be your babysitter, Arya, and I don’t need to _get laid_ , as you so delicately put it, Margaery!”  Sansa fumed, “Just take Margaery with you, Arya.  She’s the one who knows how to get the guys to pay attention to her and what to do with them once she has it!”

“Now, Sansa,” Margaery grinned, “You know that’s not true.  You still get plenty of attention.  You just choose to ignore it.  Why, just last week, Joffrey tried to talk to you when we were eating lunch at Hot Pie’s.”

Sansa shivered at the thought.  She knew Margaery was teasing her, but it didn’t lessen the sting.  In reality, Joffrey Baratheon, Westeros University’s richest, most eligible bachelor as well as the campus’s biggest resident jerk, had suddenly decided to speak to Sansa again last Tuesday while the young women were grabbing a quick lunch in between classes.  The first time Sansa had met Joffrey was during her freshman year when he sat next to her in their introductory biology class.  Joffrey was handsome, rich, and extremely smooth, so much so that Sansa instantaneously whipped up a first-class crush on him.  Having read far too many romance novels as a safe substitute for a real relationship, Sansa began to believe that Joffrey just might be the true, noble, chivalrous knight in shining armor that she had dreamed of sweeping her off her feet.

Before she knew it, Sansa was meeting up with Joffrey at the library twice a week to tutor him so he could pass the class.  Then about one month into their yet-to-be-defined but perfectly-safe relationship, Joffrey invited Sansa to a party that was being held at Robb’s frat house.  Sansa’s well-developed yet short-lived crush on Joffrey ended abruptly that night.

Joffrey had lured her upstairs under the guise of showing her the stars from the balcony overlooking the campus.  Instead, he had grabbed her roughly by the arm, dragging her into an empty bedroom.  If her older brother, Robb, hadn’t heard her screams and rushed to her rescue, Sansa knew what would have happened next.  After Robb had thoroughly kicked Joffrey’s ass and had thrown him out of the frat house, he sat Sansa down and told her about Joffrey’s rather sadistic reputation on campus.  Robb warned her that had he seen her come to the party with Joffrey in the first place, he would’ve kicked Joffrey’s ass just on principal.

Sansa believed that she must simply be the most naïve, silly girl on the planet.  How was it that every other person on campus seemed to know that Joffrey was a predator?  To ease her embarrassment, Sansa never told her parents about what had happened and made Robb swear that he wouldn’t say a word about it either.  Sansa did tell Margaery only because she had been downstairs at the frat house when the whole scene went down and had seen Robb’s infamous beat-down on Joffrey in the parking lot.

After that incident, Sansa ignored any and all attempts Joffrey made to woo her back into his good graces.  Sansa knew that the only reason Joffrey was feigning an interest in her yet again was because he so thoroughly enjoyed tormenting her these last two years.  He also desperately wanted to ruin Sansa’s saintly reputation on campus.  _Why me?_  thought Sansa, _what in the name of all the gods have I done to deserve his crap again?_

“That’s not funny!” Sansa barked at Margaery as Sansa began to feel the wetness forming in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sansa.  Yeesh, that was a terrible joke to make,” Margaery replied gently,  “You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone there…although seeing Robb give that prick another beating would make me laugh hysterically.”  Arya, who was no longer listening to the other two girls talk, stood with her body half-buried in the refrigerator looking for something to eat.

Margaery smiled as she approached Sansa cautiously.  She reached out and put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder.  “Listen, Arya and I both know how seriously you take school.  Way more seriously than either of us do.  But that’s the problem.  You _never_ let loose.  You got to get out and live a little sometimes, Sansa.  You’re missing the best years of your life!  You’re making straight A’s.  All of your professors adore you.  You’re the perfect daughter, sister, and student.  You’re just afraid that you’ll make another mistake like you did with Joffrey.  What is _one night_ of hanging out with your girlfriends going to do?”  Margaery asked as she rubbed Sansa’s shoulder slightly.

Sansa hung her head down and dropped her folded arms in defeat.  “Fine,” Sansa grumbled as she released the breath she had been holding.  “I’ll go out with you two.  On one condition.”

“Yes!”  Arya screamed as she rejoined the conversation with an apple in hand, “Finally!”

“What’s the condition?” Margaery asked smugly.

“I will _not_ dance with any one, and I will _not_ drink.  I’m a terrible dancer, and I’m not myself when I drink.”  Sansa stated bluntly.

“That’s actually two conditions,” Arya taunted as she bit into her apple.

“Arya!” Sansa said, glaring at her sister.

“And you’d be so much better company if you were wasted,” added Arya with a devilish grin.  At that comment, Sansa punched Arya in the upper arm, but apparently she did not hurt Arya enough to make her quit laughing so hard.

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Margaery beamed while grabbing Sansa’s hand and leading her to Margaery’s bedroom, “Your terms are perfectly acceptable.  Now let’s get you dressed and get you ready to get some action!”

“But – wait!  Margaery, I –“

“Arya,” Margaery yelled as she shoved Sansa into her bedroom, “Call Brienne and tell her that you’re going to pick her up at 8.  You two meet us at King’s Landing at 9.”  Arya could hear Sansa pointlessly protesting the outfit Margaery surely was demanding that Sansa wear, “I have some serious work to do here!”

“Later!” Arya called out to Margaery as she dashed out of the apartment with the door slamming behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, are you still with me?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets ready for her girl's night and wonders if she might meet someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory about Sansa...

Sansa Stark was many things, but a partier she was not.  She knew that such carnal pleasures as dancing, drinking, and sleeping around were not befitting a young lady, but that didn’t keep her from thinking about them.  Perhaps her lack of exploration of the world of intemperance was thanks to her classically beautiful mother, Catelyn Stark, a former socialite who subscribed to the idea that ladies should act like ladies.  Sansa had tried a few drinks while at a party or two, and she even attempted to dance on occasion, but at 20 years of age, Sansa remained a virgin.

Not that Sansa wasn’t interested in sex.  She had thought about sex just as much as any healthy young woman does, probably even more so at times due to her lack of it.  Although in high school she had dreamed of having a boyfriend and finding out about sex first-hand, Sansa was terrified that she somehow would be a failure if she did not meet her mother’s expectations that she and Arya remain pure and chaste, or as her sister put it, keep their legs together until they got married.

Although Sansa loved her mother greatly and strove to please her, the one person in this world who Sansa truly wanted to please was her father, Ned Stark.  Her father came from an extremely wealthy family who for generations had lived a life of luxury, yet Ned had not inherited the problems that many privileged kids (like Joffrey) receive.  Ned Stark was a ruggedly handsome, honest, loyal, hard-working family man who excelled at sports in his youth and who had made a name for himself on the Westeros University’s football team back in the day.  Now Ned ran the family business, Winterfell Enterprises, which was more successful than ever.  He was a doting father, and Sansa adored him.  Sansa wanted nothing more than to make her father proud, and the idea of having daddy find out that his little girl was, well, engaged in certain illicit activities made her cringe.

Her oldest brother, Robb, who was only 16 months older than Sansa, was also an athlete like their father.  Robb had been a serious athlete in high school, now serving Westeros University as the captain of both its soccer and hockey teams.  He was also one of its star track and field team members.  Not as academically gifted as Sansa, Robb made decent enough grades to keep their parents happy.  His gregarious personality, curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes, as well as his status in the athletic department, made him one of the resident heartthrobs on campus.  Sansa’s parents were extremely proud of Robb’s athletic talents, although they would have preferred that he partied less and studied more.

Sansa’s next oldest brother, Jon, was actually a cousin and the same age as Robb.  Their Aunt Lyanna, Ned’s younger sister, had been a single mom when she had given birth to Jon, and when she died in a car accident that had almost claimed the life of her one-year-old son, Ned and Catelyn quickly adopted Jon and raised him like Robb’s twin.  Precocious beyond his years, Jon was an old soul trapped in the body of a 21-year-old.  A beautiful man with his dark brown eyes and his chin-length, brown curly hair, Jon was as brilliant as he was handsome.  An outright and bona fide genius, Jon aced every college course he took with minimal effort, yet he had no interest whatsoever in academics.  His passion was music, and he spent most of his waking hours hunched over his guitar, writing songs, or hanging out with his bandmates from his rock band, The Night’s Watch.  Ned and Catelyn were proud of Jon’s musical talents, but they were uncertain what to do with Jon’s lack of interest in anything else.

Sansa also had two younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, who were both still living at home with Ned and Catelyn.  During his freshman year in high school, Bran, who had been an adequate student and a terrific athlete, fell 40 feet while rock climbing at The Wall, a local indoor climbing venue.  The freak accident had left Bran with multiple broken bones, including three broken vertebrae.  Although Bran’s road to recovery was slow, he was making progress in physical therapy and had started to walk again thanks to yet another corrective surgery.  Now a junior, Bran was homeschooled by Catelyn since Bran spent so much time in and out of therapy.

Rickon, a socially awkward child since birth, was a freshman in high school and spent the majority of his waking hours while not at school on his video gaming system or programming something on his computer.  Reluctant at first to allow Rickon so much time on the Xbox or in front of the computer, Ned tried to force Rickon to find another hobby; but when Rickon successfully reconfigured Ned’s entire malfunctioning computer system at work, Ned was less inclined to complain these days.

Although most of the Stark children made Ned and Catelyn proud, Sansa’s younger sister, Arya, was the bane of her father and mother’s existence.

At age eighteen, Arya was the one Stark child who didn’t give a damn about grades, athletics, or just about anything else that made a Stark a Stark.  The problem with Arya, however, was not that she couldn’t make good grades, but that she chose _not_ to make them.  She was a hedonistic hellion who was bent on wringing out as much pleasure in life as possible.  In high school, Arya had been suspended for beating up a bully named Polliver in Mr. Forel’s gym class.  She had gotten caught by a parent at a friend’s house smoking pot during her senior year of high school.  As a birthday gift to herself, she got a rather large wolf tattoo on her back as soon as she turned 18.  Academically speaking, she barely had gotten a high enough GPA to get into Westeros University, and even then it took some string-pulling by dear old dad, who was an extremely generous donor to his former alma mater.  Arya was on academic probation, but her grades were of little relevance to her, especially now that she had met a handsome young bartender named Gendry at King’s Landing two weekends ago.

Unlike her siblings, Sansa had always been the good child who was good at everything.  And according to her mother, Sansa was such a good child that even Sansa’s birth didn’t cause Catelyn any stress.  Sansa never complained openly to her parents; she never caused them any trouble; and she spent her entire existence trying to please them.  Not as athletic as Robb or Bran, Sansa did her best to perform well during her two years on the high school volleyball team, even though she didn’t like sports.  Nowhere near as smart as Jon or Rickon, Sansa worked her ass off in school and pulled a 4.0, making her the class valedictorian her senior year.  Never wanting to let her parents down like Arya seemed to manage, Sansa always was the responsible kid who could be counted on to watch her siblings, to help around the house, or to stay out of trouble.

In fact, Sansa so desperately wanted to make her parents proud that once in her junior year of high school, she had vowed publicly in her church youth group that she would keep herself pure until marriage.  Sansa had little doubt that she would later regret _that_ moment of insanity, which she did just as soon as she got home.  Only seconds in the door, Arya burst into the house and announced Sansa’s proclamation in front of a rather pleased looking Catelyn and a rather uncomfortable looking Ned.

And so, now at the age of 20, Sansa Stark spent her waking hours suppressing her own desires and dreams in exchange for the constant fear that she would fail to maintain her perfect GPA or would somehow fail in her role as the Dutiful Daughter.

Being a good girl was not always an easy task when your best friend was Margaery Tyrell.

Having lost both her parents in a car crash while still in elementary school, Margaery and her two older brothers, Willas and Loras, were raised by their paternal grandmother, Olenna, an outspoken, free-spirited psychoanalyst who ascribed to the theory that children should be treated like adults and should be allowed to engage in activities that the common culture would say were for only, well, adults.  When Margaery’s grandmother retired, she moved her grandchildren to Westeros for a fresh start, wanting Margaery to be free of the reputation she had developed at her old high school.

Sansa met Margaery during their sophomore year on the first day of school during lunch.  Neither meek nor shy like Sansa, Margarey walked right up to the three older boys who were taunting Sansa, telling them that she would kick their sorry asses if they didn’t fuck off and leave the tall, skinny, freckled red-head alone.  When the boys laughed at her, grabbing her by the arm, Margaery followed through on her threat, landing herself a three day in-school suspension, not to mention Sansa’s undying gratitude.  Although the two were complete opposites in both personality and temperament, they hit it off, becoming fast-friends.

While Margaery lobbed a string of curses in an attempt to force Sansa’s fiery, curly mane into submission, Sansa began to wonder if in fact Margaery and Arya may be right.  _Perhaps it’s time I live a little_ , Sansa thought as Margaery babbled on and on ad nauseum about what shade of lipstick Sansa should wear, _I deserve to have a little fun, right?_   Sansa’s thoughts began to drift to what it might actually be like to let a man touch her for once… _What if I meet a guy tonight?  Should I flirt?  Should I act like Arya or Margaery?  Ok, maybe I_ won’t _act like them, but should I actually try to get to know a guy?  What if he wants to dance?   I can’t dance…but wait, what if he likes me?  And what if I like him…oh, crap, what if he wants to…what if I want to…_

“Sansa?  Are you even listening to me?” Margaery quizzed Sansa while finishing the fancy up-do on Sansa’s head.  Sansa blinked rapidly, her cheeks turning a deep pink, thanks to her less-than-pure thoughts about an imaginary man.

“Yes, I..um…what were you saying?” asked Sansa as she worried her lower lip. “I was listening, you know.”

Margaery narrowed her eyes at Sansa and then smiled.  “Yeah, I bet you were.”  Margaery swabbed Sansa’s lips with some sort of red goo then stood back to survey her handiwork.  “Sweetie, you look like a goddess.  No man will stand a chance against your powers tonight!”

Sansa, who had been sitting with her back to Margaery’s floor-length mirror during the entire 45-minute-long pluck and powder fest, finally was allowed to stand.  Seeing herself for the first time since Margaery had attacked her with that extremely short blue dress, Sansa’s eyes grew wide in amazement.  Margaery’s deep-blue dress hugged her curves in all the right places; the stretchy fabric clinging to Sansa’s body so snugly that Sansa wasn’t sure she could sit back down in the thing.  Her breasts were shoved into the air and pushed firmly together by the hideous contraption that Margaery had demanded she wear under the ridiculously tight dress.  Her feet were already getting sore from the sky-high black designer-label heels that Margaery had dug out from under her bed.  Sansa’s make-up was heavy but surprisingly tasteful, and her hair was a mess of copper ringlets pinned up into a casually-chic up-do. 

 _Wow_ , Sansa thought in astonishment, _I look hot!_ For the first time since she couldn’t remember when, Sansa felt beautiful.  She turned around and around while surveying her reflection.  Her long neck, her pale skin dotted lightly with freckles, and her unruly red curls finally seemed to be working to her advantage for once in her lifetime. _Why haven’t I ever let Margaery talk me into this make-over shit before?_

“No more sweats, bare face, or pony tails tonight, girl,” Margaery squealed with delight, “You are _so_ gonna get lucky - I just know it!”

Sansa’s wide-eyed gaze turned into a slightly devious smile, “Maybe you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I wonder who she might meet tonight...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Bronn talk while getting ready for their shift at King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeere's Sandor! This is just an introduction, mind you...

“C’mon, Clegane, lighten up, will ya?”  Bronn spat as he lifted a crate of beer, “For fuck’s sake, man, you’re wound too tight.  See if you can get yourself laid tonight.”

“Fuck you, cunt,” snarled Sandor Clegane, Bronn’s best friend and coworker at King’s Landing, the most fashionable and trendiest nightclub in all of Westeros.  Sandor and Bronn, who were bouncers and resident jack-of-all trades at the nightclub, were unloading some particularly expensive and tasteless prissy-boy beer off the back of a truck and hauling them into the club.

“Ah, there’s my boy!  Always so pleasant to be around,” teased Bronn as he stopped unloading the crates long enough to snag a beer for himself and for Sandor.  “Here!” Bronn said as he tossed the warm, unopened bottle to Sandor.  “Go on, then.  Have a drink.  It’ll do you good to loosen up a bit before the night starts.  God knows you could use it.”

“Mind your fucking business, would you?”  Sandor replied as he opened the beer and quickly downed the amber liquid.  “Fuck, this stuff is horrible!” Sandor barked as he pitched the half-empty bottle into the dumpster with such force they could both hear the bottle shattering.

“I’m not saying anything about anything at all,” Bronn answered as he raised his hands in surrender, “I’m just offering you a beer.”  He took a long swallow from his bottle and smirked broadly at Sandor.

Sandor knew better; Bronn could tell that Sandor’s mood was particularly foul this evening, even more so than usual.  _Of course the bastard wouldn’t come out and ask,_ thought Sandor, _he’s too fucking chicken._ “If you’re wanting to know how the interview with the Lannisters went, well, you needn’t.  I didn’t get the loan.  Jaime told me that they need to keep us on at least another year before they can let us out of our contract.  Cunts.”

“Say, I’m really sorry, mate,” Bronn said as he brought his beer to his mouth and took a long swig, “The fuckers think you’d make a lousy businessman, eh?  Well, thankfully, you’ll have me for that part.”  Bronn chuckled, enjoying the hateful glare that Sandor was shooting his direction at the moment, “Though you’re one hell of an instructor, I’ll give you that.  You’re the strongest fucker I know.  Almost as strong as me, that is.”

“Yeah, right,” Sandor huffed in reply, “It’s the same story over and over.  They’re always so fucking interested in hearing my plans until they realize that they can’t run this shitehole without us.”  Wiping the sweat from his scarred face with his faded black t-shirt, Sandor looked up just in time to see Bronn regarding him with far too much pity for his tastes.  “Don’t say a fucking word about it again,” Sandor growled, “It’s done with and I’m not going to dwell on it.”

“Whatever you say,” Bronn replied as he finished his beer and lightly tossed the empty bottle into the dumpster.  “You and I are gonna open up our own gym one day.  We’ll show the lot of these rich fuckers that we don’t need them.”

Sandor barked out a laugh, “We need _someone_ to train, don’t we?  Who better than these rich cunts who come here every Friday to spend their daddy’s money?”

“It’s not the rich fuckers we want to come in to our gym, you see,” Bronn grinned widely while lifting a crate, “It’s their pretty little wives and lady-friends that we want to take on the mat!”

“You never quit, do you?” Sandor smiled as he also lifted a crate, following Bronn into the club.

“Never!” Bronn replied loudly as Sandor shut the door with his foot behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love these two together?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's troubled past and how it shaped his character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of Sandor's backstory...he just demands a lot of attention!

Sandor Clegane was many things, but a partier he was not.  Growing up in Glasgow, Sandor had been raised in working-class poverty by his drunkard father along with his horrific older brother, Gregor, and their beautiful, younger sister, Elspeth.  When he was three years old, Sandor’s mother died from complications that arose during his sister’s birth.  Memories of his life when his mum was still alive became nothing more than fleeting glimpses of curly, red hair and blue eyes smiling down at him while she sang him to sleep.  Sandor’s father, who had always been a heavy drinker, fell deep into the bottle after her death and bounced from one manual-labor job to the next.  Left to fend for themselves most of the time, Gregor’s temper and propensity toward violence only grew worse.

Only three years older than Sandor, Gregor’s sheer size made him look several years older.  " _All the Cleganes are tall fuckers_ ," Sandor once heard his dad joke, but for some reason only known to the gods, Gregor came out of the womb the size of a four-year-old.  Gregor bullied both Sandor and Elspeth constantly, often punching and kicking Sandor for sport.  When Sandor tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse.  Though he frequently called her ugly names and repeatedly threatened her, Gregor never laid a hand on Elspeth, mostly because Sandor would step in between them and take the beating in her place.  To escape the hell that was their lives, Sandor and Elspeth spent many long hours hiding in their shared bedroom upstairs in the old, musty attic, speaking in a language that they had invented and dreaming of running away.

One afternoon when Sandor was seven, Gregor finally snapped and pushed Elspeth down the stairs, simply because she had the audacity to touch one of Gregor’s toys.  Seeing his sister’s limp and broken body laying at the bottom of the staircase, Sandor snatched a kitchen knife from the counter and charged at Gregor with all of his might.  Gregor, who was now ten years old and almost as tall as their father, grabbed Sandor around the neck like Sandor had seen some guy do in one those action movies on T.V.  Gregor dragged Sandor outside, and in his is rage, Gregor held Sandor’s face down on the hot grill their father had lit with the intention of cooking dinner but instead had passed out drunk on the couch.

The pain was bad, but the smell was worse.

Sandor’s father had tried to cover up what Gregor had done, calling Sandor’s disfigurement by fire a terrible accident, but the local authorities weren’t convinced.  After the Children’s Reporter was sent out to investigate, Gregor and Sandor were removed from the home with Gregor being placed in custodial care and Sandor being placed with his maternal grandmother, Aggie, who had lost contact with her daughter when Aggie didn’t approve of her daughter marrying a Clegane.  Sandor only saw his father one more time after he had been rescued from that home.  At Elspeth’s funeral, Sandor had seen him from a distance, watching through his bandages as his father was crying over her casket.  It was shortly after the service was finished that his father shot himself in the head while sitting on his dead wife’s grave.  " _Cleganes sure know how to fuck things up_ ," Sandor had overheard a neighbor telling one of the social workers who had come to visit Sandor after his father’s suicide.

As for Gregor, he only laid eyes on Gregor a handful of times after being yanked out of the family home, all while attending courtroom hearings and sentencings for his depraved older brother.  When he was 12 years old, Sandor saw Gregor for the last time.  Only 15 years old, Gregor, who had been released yet again on probation, was being tried as an adult for the rape and murder of a local woman whom he had butchered in front of her children.  Sandor would always remember the menacing smirk a handcuffed and chained Gregor shot him while being led out of the court room.  _I hope you get jumped and knifed in prison, you worthless piece of shite,_ Sandor had thought that day.

It took four years, but Sandor’s wish eventually came true.

The disfigurement Sandor lived with served as a constant reminder of his screwed up family.  Sandor had lost the outward appearance of his right ear in the attack, and the skin covering the entire right side of his face was puckered and reddened severely.  Although he could still see out of his right eye, the skin over his eye hung low from his forehead, almost as if he had melted like a wax dummy in a museum fire.  Although the countless therapies, skin grafts, and treatments Sandor endured over the next decade improved his appearance to a point where he could walk down the street without causing young children to shriek, his temperament only worsened.  Nothing the doctors could do would ever erase the emotional scarring Gregor had left behind.

Actually, Sandor often thought that the emotional damage Gregor did was far worse than any of the physical signs of his suffering.  Born a sweet, gentle boy, Sandor’s growing rage and pessimism all but drowned him during his adolescence.   Surly in temperament and scary in sight, Sandor was once again reminded of his Clegane genes when he shot up to over six-and-a-half feet tall the summer before his second year in high school.  Thankfully, being a tall fucker helped to end the blatant taunting and teasing he had endured at the hands of his fellow classmates and neighbors for years.

Because Sandor wrestled with so many inner demons, he began to run into legal troubles with the local juvenile system in his third year of high school.   " _Just like his brother,_ " he heard the neighbors whisper, " _He’ll turn out just like the rest of those Cleganes_."  Sandor’s grandmother, Aggie, who had been a stable, kind, yet firm force in his life since she had taken him in, was now approaching her wits end.

Then one day after Aggie had begged Sandor yet again to not drop out of school, Aggie by chance saw an advertisement in the _Glasgow Daily Record_ about a man, Ray McShane, who was opening a new mixed marital arts school in town.  Ray was a sixth-degree black belt welterweight who had recently moved back home to Glasgow after travelling abroad and teaching MMA in both Europe and America over the last ten years.  Convinced that she had found a way for Sandor to channel his anger, Aggie virtually had to drag Sandor by his good ear to the MMA school that next Saturday because Sandor thought the idea of him taking any class with any one at any time was a bad idea. 

For reasons unknown to Sandor, Ray took a liking to the young, scarred, long-haired giant who refused to talk or to participate during the first 20 minutes of class.  When Ray had called Sandor up in front of the class and had asked Sandor to hit him, Sandor burst out laughing.  “You have to be joking,” Sandor taunted as he literally looked down at Ray, who must have been barely over five-and-a-half feet tall, “I could kill you, old man.”

“Let’s see you give it a whirl,” Ray said calmly.  Sandor cocked his right hand and fired.  Once he realized that he now was laying on the ground with his punching arm pinned behind his back, Sandor looked up to see Ray smiling down at him.  “Care for another go at me, laddie?”

From that day, Sandor was hooked.

He began training under Ray every possible waking minute, and thanks to Ray’s testimony at Sandor’s pre-trial hearing the next month, the judge allowed Sandor to remain out of jail.  Sandor moved through the ranks of the MMA as quickly as possible, and by the time he graduated from high school, he had earned his black belt.  After graduating, Sandor worked various jobs as a painter, gardener, and carpenter while continuing to train under Ray.  Martial arts gave Sandor a sense of inner peace that he had not felt since he lost his beloved Elspeth.

Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Sandor began his training to become an instructor.   It was at this point in his life that Ray introduced Sandor to Bronn Flynn.  Bronn had grown up in the northern part of England in the same type of working-class poverty and broken home life as Sandor.  Ray had met Bronn when Ray had visited the Yorkshire area during an MMA conference.  Watching Bronn’s skills in the ring, Ray on the spot offered Bronn a job training folks at his MMA school in Glasgow.  Not having any real family to speak of, Bronn had jumped at the opportunity.  After arriving in Glasgow, Bronn began renting the garage apartment in Aggie’s home, in no doubt thanks to Ray’s conspiring.  “Figured you could use a pet,” Ray had told Sandor with a grin, “Maybe he’ll do you some good.”

Sandor didn’t have any friends other than Ray, and quite frankly, he liked it that way.  Ray seemed to disagree.  Over the next few months, Sandor and Bronn, who was tall but not nearly as tall as Sandor, sparred, fought, grappled, and wrestled during class time, slowly forming a sense of comradery.  Outside the gym, Bronn asked Sandor to hang out with him at the local pub enough times that one evening, Sandor finally relented.  They then began a routine where they would train with Ray in the morning, teach classes in the evening, and go out on weekends to meet the ladies.

At least, that was Bronn’s plan.

Sandor mostly went to drink and to be left alone.  Even though Bronn was not extraordinarily handsome, he was an extreme extrovert and a tremendous flirt.  Bronn’s personality wooed the women with such ease that he quickly became a popular figure in town.  Having all the social graces of an ill-mannered dog, Sandor spent most nights at the pub in the role of Bronn’s wing-man, taking whatever scraps of female attention Bronn could offer him.  Knowing that the ladies didn’t find his face appealing, Sandor’s massive size and well-defined form often peeked the curiosity of some inebriated, horny woman who was looking for a curiosity-fuck.

Such was Sandor’s life.

And so, at the age of 25, Sandor’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep.  Aggie had kept her illness a secret from Sandor since she didn’t want to trouble him.  At her funeral, the entire village had come to send her off properly, much to Sandor’s chagrin.  Sandor threw himself into his training so hard that Ray pulled him aside one afternoon and asked Sandor what he wanted to do with his life.

Sandor was puzzled.  “Fight,” Sandor stated bluntly. 

“Well, my boy, you’ve got to do more with your life than that,” Ray said as he whacked Sandor on the back and rose from his seat on the floor beside Sandor, “You’re going to America.”

 _The fuck did he just say?_ Sandor thought. “What?” he muttered, “Now why the fuck would I do a thing like that?”

Ray smiled broadly at Sandor. “I have a friend over there who is going to let you train at his gym for free, put you up in one of his apartments for free, and hopefully, after a few years of working your arse off for him, you will have enough money saved to open your own place.”

Sandor’s mouth fell open.  He had never imagined that he would ever leave Glasgow, much less leave Scotland.  “And, by the way,” Ray added over his shoulder as he walked toward his office, “You’re taking Bronn with you.  Can’t leave your pet home alone, now can you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just want to give the poor, big man a hug?
> 
> Hang in there...only one more chapter to go before they meet, I swear!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Sandor ends up working for the Lannister brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Sandor's backstory...

Just like that, Sandor was selling his grandmother’s house and packing his few belongings to get on a jet with Bronn that was bound for America.  Shortly after arriving in the city of Westeros, Sandor and Bronn started working for the Lannisters, a powerful, wealthy, family who owned several businesses in the area.  Sandor learned from Ray that while he was living in America years ago, Ray had moved to Westeros where he had opened an MMA school and had trained one of the Lannisters, a tall, blond, handsome young man named Jaime.

Jaime Lannister was a spoiled, cocky, rich high school kid who wanted to learn how to be a warrior, and after training with Jaime for two years, Ray returned to Scotland.  Jaime Lannister never forgot Ray and all that he had taught him, for if it had not been for Ray’s influence, Jaime assuredly would have turned out to be just like his conniving, cut-throat father, Tywin, or his paranoid, alcoholic twin sister, Cersi. 

So when Ray reached out to him over a decade later, Jaime jumped at the chance to help him.  With his younger brother, Tyrion, as his business partner, Jaime had recently opened a new nightclub called King’s Landing.  They came up with the name one night while drinking heavily in a gentlemen’s club.  Tyrion, who was a dwarf by birth, was so drunk that he tripped and fell off the table that he was dancing upon and landed right on a whore’s lap, declaring, “The king has landed!”

Not one of their finer moments, but the name stuck.  Since their father was not excited about their new endeavor and refused to fund it, Jaime was more than happy to have two professional cage fighters on the employee roster for practically nothing.  Tyrion set up Sandor and Bronn in a relatively cheap yet decent apartment in one of the properties he managed for Tywin, and Tyrion gave the fighters access to a small studio flat underneath their apartment to turn into a gym that they could use to keep in shape and teach MMA classes in their time off their security gig at the club.

The unfortunate down-side to this rather magnificent arrangement for the Lannister boys was that Jaime and Tyrion had to deal with Sandor Clegane.

The Lannister brothers understood Bronn, who not only enjoyed to drink and womanize as much as they did, but he also had a wicked sense of humor like them as well.  Sandor, on the other hand, spent most of his time brooding and looking menacing, rolling his eyes at them, or ignoring them both completely.

Tyrion and Jaime didn’t even try to ask Sandor what had happened to his face after watching what happened to an idiot server at the club who had dared to ask him why his face looked like leather.

In the beginning, Tyrion repeatedly told Jaime that they should fire Sandor, but then one night when they were closing up the club, three random punks broke in and tried to rob the place.  Bronn and Sandor had already left for the night, leaving Tyrion alone in the office.  Not content to just take the cash and run, the leader of the thugs thought that he and his buddies might have a little sport with Tyrion.

Just when Tyrion thought he was about to live a moment out of the movie _Deliverance_ , Sandor appeared out of nowhere.  Tyrion had never seen a human being move so fast and cause so much physical damage in his life.  When the cops had showed up at the club, they almost arrested Sandor for the absolute violence he had inflicted upon the thugs.  Thankfully, Jaime had arrived just in time to schmooze the cops with the promise of free drinks for a year.

A few days later after the incident, Tyrion tried to thank Sandor right before his shift as a bouncer at the club began.  In his usual way, Sandor merely growled at Tyrion, “Don’t ever stay here at night without one of us again, you stupid shite.  You’d better be glad I forgot my coat or you’d have been fucked raw.”

And with that volley, Tyrion never questioned Jaime’s decision to bring Sandor and Bronn on board at King’s Landing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up...Sansa and Sandor are about to meet!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and friends are about to enter King's Landing, just as Sandor is about to make one hell of a first impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter is a bit of a tease, I know...

“Margaery, I’m not sure about this…can’t we just go home and do pizza and Netflix?” Sansa pleaded as she stood in line with Margaery, Arya, and Brienne.

The four attractive young women were huddled together, standing amid the humungous crowd in line outside of King’s Landing, waiting to see if they would gain admittance to the trendy club.  Sansa knew that all three of her friends regularly wasted their Friday and Saturday nights at this place, and although she knew from their sordid tales that this place could potentially be fun, she was growing tired of standing in line.  Sansa’s feet were in absolute agony, thanks to those damn shoes Margaery insisted that she wear.

“Hey, lighten up, sis,” Arya shouted over the noise of the crowd around them, “it’s always like this.  Once we get closer to the door, we’re in.  Margaery has been sexting one of the bouncers like a slut for the last two weeks, so as soon he as comes out and he sees us, he’ll let us in for sure.”

“I am no slut, Arya,” Margaery corrected with a self-satisfied smirk, “I’m just highly skilled in the fine art of seduction.  And by the way, his name is Bronn.  And he’s hot.  _Very_ hot.  Have you checked out his ass, Arya?  I’m so ready to jump that tonight!”

“Oh, God, really?” Sansa moaned, “Do we have to go down this road again?”  _What was I thinking when I said yes to this?_ Sansa inwardly chastised herself for agreeing to this night out with her friends.

“Hey, quiet, he’s coming over here!” Brienne yelled as she grabbed Margaery by the shoulder, shoving Margaery forward, “Go get him, Marge!” Accidentally, Brienne pushed Margaery into two rather heavy-set girls who were standing in front of them.  The two homely girls with bad hair and trashy clothes turned around to glare at Brienne, but once they caught sight of Brienne’s smug smirk of defiance, not to mention her sheer size, the offended girls simply turned around and pretended not to care.

Brienne Tarth was a mutual friend from high school whom Sansa and Margaery had met when they were on the volley ball team.  Brienne, who was a year older than them, was on track to graduate this year from Westeros University.  Standing 6’3” tall in her bare feet, Brienne always attracted more attention from people, especially from the opposite sex, than she desired.  While in high school, Brienne had been the butt of many cruel, teenage boy jokes due to her plain-Jane look, short blond hair, and masculine build.  Yet now, the once gangly, awkward jock had bloomed into a stunning, physically sculpted beauty who now was comfortable with her formidable size.

In fact, just last weekend, Brienne was hit on by the extremely attractive owner of the club, Jaime Lannister, who had even asked for her phone number.  When Margaery had witnessed Brienne and Jaime’s exchange, Margaery almost wet herself like an excited puppy, telling Brienne that if she didn’t fuck that Lannister hottie immediately, Margaery would have to disown her.  Of course, Brienne hadn’t told her friends yet that she did just that a couple of days ago after Jaime had called and asked her to have dinner with him.  Tonight she was supposed to meet Jaime in his office at King’s Landing for a nightcap, so Brienne figured she’d let her friends in on the secret soon enough.

“Shh!  He’ll hear you!” chastised Margaery while she put her finger to her lips, “Now be quiet and let me work my magic!”  She turned around just in time to see Bronn standing directly in front of her.

“Good evening, ladies,” Bronn cooed as he dipped into a slight bow, “It’s a pleasure to see you here tonight.” After restocking the beer earlier in the evening, Bronn and Sandor had returned to their apartment to shower and to get ready for their security shift at King’s Landing.  Sporting his tightest jeans, a white, collarless shirt left dangerously unbuttoned, and a gray pinstriped vest, Bronn had put a little extra effort into his wardrobe selection tonight after Margaery had texted him to let him know that she would be at the club around 9.  With all of his primping and preening, Bronn ended up making Sandor late getting to work, which pissed him off royally.

Bronn could feel the heat radiating off Margaery, who was looking him over like a cat about to devour its prey.  He blatantly eyeballed her as she stood with her hand on her lovely curved hip.  She looked like a siren in her sleeveless, form-fitting, jade green dress that barely covered her ass and tits.  Taking her hand, Bronn kissed it slowly, staring her directly in the eyes and said with a husky voice, “Margaery, darling, what I wouldn’t do to have the night off tonight.”

Sansa stood silently as she watched Margaery and Bronn shamelessly flirt.  Sansa knew that this was Margaery’s modus operandi, but the way that the two of them were practically humping each other right here on the sidewalk in front of everyone made Sansa feel like she was about to watch a bad porn flick.

“Uh, hey, Margaery,” Sansa tried to interrupt, “Do you think your new friend could get us inside soon?”  Margaery and Bronn broke apart, yet they continued to hold hands.

“Forgive me ladies, I was mesmerized by your lovely companion here,” Bronn purred as he bent down to place a quick kiss on top of Margaery’s head, “Pleasure to see you again, Arya.  Brienne.  And whom might this lovely lady be?” Bronn asked as he repeated his chivalrous hand kiss on Sansa.

“I’m Sansa,” she barely chirped.   _Lord, pull it together, Sansa! You don’t even like this guy and your titillated!_

“Ah, the lovely Sansa Stark whom I’ve heard so much about from Margaery and these fine ladies over here,” he said, momentarily leering at Sansa.  “Well, love, my name is Bronn, and it’s truly a pleasure to have you here tonight at King’s Landing.  Ladies, in honor of my new friend here, the first round is on me!”  Arya, Brienne, and Margaery all squealed with delight.

“I don’t drink,” Sansa blurted out suddenly.  Three sets of mortified female eyes and one set of perplexed male eyes stared at her like she had just sprouted a second head.  “I mean,” Sansa added quickly, trying not to sound like a complete moron, “I don’t usually get out that much, y’know, with studying and all, so I’m a bit of a light-weight, I’m afraid.”  Sansa smiled feebly but could feel her friends’ eyes on her still.

“Well, then, Sansa, you must make sure you stay with your friends tonight,” smiled Bronn as he shook his head and tried not to laugh, “We wouldn’t want one of the lads here at the club to try to take advantage of a young lady who can’t properly handle her liquor.”  Sansa immediately felt like an idiot, and if Arya’s looks could kill, Sansa would be lying dead on the sidewalk.

“So, Bronn, I’m wondering if you can come hang out with us some tonight,” Margaery said seductively while placing her hand on his chest, toying with his necklaces, “That is, if your boss will let you have a minute to yourself.”

Sansa knew that Margaery was partly trying to change the subject and was mostly trying to get into Bronn’s extremely tight pants.  Either way, Sansa was glad that her friend’s diversionary tactic worked.  No longer the subject of scrutiny, Sansa relaxed slightly.  She could almost smell the pheromones in the air.  Bronn and Margaery stared at each other in silence until Arya faked a cough and broke them out of their reverie.

“I believe that I can arrange such an event, my dear,” Bronn whispered into Margaery’s ear loudly enough to be heard by everyone.  Standing to his full height, Bronn held out his arm for Margaery, “Shall we?”  He led Margaery toward the club with Arya and Brienne following closely while Sansa, whose feet were aching from her designer shoes, trailed several steps behind.  “I thought we’d forgo trying to get in through the main door, what with the crowd and all,” Bronn added as he moved the four women around the long line of hopeful patrons to a door on the side of the building that only employees accessed.  “Here we are!” he proudly exclaimed, reaching to open the door.

Before Bronn could turn the knob, the huge door burst open, almost flying off its hinges.  Out stalked Sandor carrying some over-dressed, hipster wanna-be over his broad shoulders as if his young victim was a sack of potatoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You still with me? I hope you've been patient, because things are starting to get good...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking in the sight of Sandor in all of his bad-ass glory, Sansa is aroused beyond belief. And Sandor is left totally dumbfounded by the elegant, beautiful young lady who doesn't scare so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, these two meet!

“Get the fuck out, you little cunt!” Sandor barked viciously, pitching the whimpering, crying object of his wrath on the sidewalk, “Show your face in here again, and I swear, I’ll stuff your head up your arse!”  Desperately scrambling to his feet, the frightened young man screamed as Sandor took a few steps toward him.  With one final growl, Sandor watched as the young man ran away from the club in terror.

“Christ, Sandor, what the hell was that about?” Bronn demanded angrily.

Sandor stood silently, fists clenched, observing the young man quickly disappear around the corner.   _The little fuck deserved worse,_ he thought as a smirk spread across his face, _I despise a man who can’t take no for an answer._   Abruptly, he turned on his heels to tell Bronn what had happened in the club, but instead, Sandor’s eyes widened when he realized that three young women were staring at him like they had just seen the Reaper himself.  _Fuck, it’s that Margaery lass who’s always in heat,_ Sandor quickly assessed, _and she brought the little wolf-bitch and the jolly blond giant along with her.  Wonderful._

Prepared to tell the lot of them to fuck off and be done with it, Sandor’s gray eyes narrowed for a brief moment as it slowly registered in his brain that a fourth pair of female eyes were also staring at him.  Sandor took a few steps forward in the poorly lit alley, trying to get a better look at the young woman whom he had never seen before at the club.  She was standing off by herself, about five paces behind Bronn and the other three women.  While the ladies standing with Bronn were visibly horrified by his behavior, this particular set of pale blue eyes weren’t showing any signs of disgust.

At first, Sandor thought that perhaps this extraordinarily beautiful young woman with blazing-red hair and pale, freckled skin was paralyzed with fear.  Yet, as Sandor looked harder at this magnificent creature who was staring at him with hooded eyes, he noticed that her ample chest, which was about ready to spill out of her incredibly tight blue dress, was heaving vigorously.  Her blood-red lips were slightly parted.  She almost looked like she was panting after a particularly fine fuck.   All manner of speech left Sandor as his breathing ceased momentarily.  _Fuck me sideways, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the lass was turned on!_

“Ladies, you’ve already met my friend here,” Bronn spoke with a forced laugh, breaking the tension in the air, “Sansa, you’ve not had the pleasure,” he added as he waved his hand toward Sandor, “Sansa, meet Sandor Clegane, champion of the underdog and loyal protector of the weak.”  Sandor, who normally would have taken the bone that Bronn had just thrown his way by cursing him to hell and back, was rendered dumbfounded by the gorgeous, copper-haired beauty staring back at him.  “You must forgive my friend, ladies.  He has anger management issues.  But that’s why I love him!”  Bronn quickly motioned for Margaery, Arya, and Brienne to enter the club, all three of whom were more than happy to get out of Sandor’s way.

Sansa, however, neither moved from her spot on the sidewalk nor broke Sandor’s stare.  She simply could not tear her eyes away from the enormous man with the long, wavy black hair and dark, scruffy beard that were both partially hiding his obviously scarred face.  _I wonder what happened to him,_ Sansa thought, _I wonder if he’d tell me if I’d ask him._   Sandor’s coal black dress shirt was unbuttoned several notches at the neck, revealing an ample coating of dark chest hair.  His sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows, and the same dark, coarse hair covered his forearms.

“Sansa, love, you coming?” Bronn asked, his brows knitted together in confusion.  Sansa heard Bronn but couldn’t budge.  She continued to drink in the sight of this huge man in the snugly-fitted dark washed jeans and motorcycle boots.  _Yes, I’m coming alright!  Help me, I think my panties just got soaked!_ “Sansa?” Bronn asked again as he walked toward Sansa, softly tapping her on the shoulder.

“Yeah, um…right,” Sansa spoke breathlessly, the spell that had held her in place finally broken.  She blinked for the first time in what felt like hours and shivered slightly.    _For God’s sake,_ Sansa thought, _what’s the matter with you?  Get a grip!_ Sansa couldn’t think straight; she had never been so turned on in all of her life.  Sansa smiled broadly up toward Sandor’s face and stuck out her hand.  _Please don’t let it be sweaty,_ Sansa prayed.  “Hi, Sandor,” she said as she looked directly into his eyes, “I’m Sansa Stark.  Nice to meet you.”

Sandor continued to stare blankly at Sansa.  His mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty, and he couldn’t even remember his own name at the moment.  _Get your shite together, you fool_ , _or she’ll know you’re a total fuck-up right away!_ Sandor admonished himself internally.  “Nice to meet you, too,” was all he could manage to say.  He gingerly took Sansa’s hand in his to do what normal people do and shake it, yet when he did, he could feel something almost akin to electricity shoot through his arm.  Her blue eyes widened as he shook her hand.  _Bloody hell, did she feel that too?_

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we’ll be off now,” Bronn stated as he gently took Sansa by the upper arm and began to lead her toward the door into the club.  “Sandor, we’ll catch you later, man!”  He stood silent as a statue, watching Bronn escort Sansa inside the building.  Even though she had allowed herself to be led away, the young woman’s bright eyes never left Sandor’s gaze.

Just as she was about to disappear from sight, Sansa smiled sweetly and waved at Sandor.  His heart leapt inside his immense chest as he watched the door close behind her.  _You’re done for, mate_ , Sandor thought as he stood outside all alone, _you’re completely fucking done for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game on, folks!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's curiosity about Sandor is royally peaked. The question is, what does she intend to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out, Sandor - Sansa's got you in her cross-hairs!

King’s Landing was by far the trendiest nightclub in all of Westeros.  Only open for two years, the posh nightclub attracted an eclectic mix of young professionals and college-age individuals.  Sleek furnishings of chrome, glass, and wood coupled with its centerpiece, a black onyx bar, gave King’s Landing a modern, hip vibe.  Patrons of the nightclub could enjoy its widely varied selection of domestic and imported beers and wines, and for those who enjoyed something a little stronger, the staff at King’s Landing weren’t afraid to make their mixed drinks strong.

Tyrion, who had a strong sense of architectural design and business acumen, had played a huge role in selecting the lay-out and furnishings as well as gathering financial backing for the nightclub.  Tyrion was also responsible for purchasing inventory and keeping up with the books.

Jaime’s talents, however, lay elsewhere.  With his model-quality looks and fashion style, Jaime was the face of King’s Landing.  He spent his time keeping the day-to-day activities running smoothly, hiring staff, auditioning bands and DJs, and mingling with the patrons.  Although Jaime enjoyed hanging out with the people who came to King’s Landing, Tyrion normally preferred the solace of his office on the second floor which overlooked the lighted dance floor.

On staff at King’s Landing were three bartenders, eight servers, two DJ, and four bouncers.  Arya had noticed a newly hired and particularly well-built bartender two weekends ago when she had come to King’s Landing with Brienne and Margaery.  Never afraid of a challenge, Arya walked right up to the bar and asked the young, attractive, dark-haired man what his name was and if he wanted to hang out after his shift.  Gendry, as Arya found out, just so happened to be very interested in talking to Arya as well, and so the two had hit it off from the very beginning.

After Bronn had escorted his lady friends into the nightclub and had seated them at a table close to the bar, Arya had abandoned ship quickly to instead sit right up against the bar and chat with Gendry in between his time mixing drinks and opening beers.  Brienne had made up some lame excuse that she was interviewing Jaime Lannister tonight as part of her research for one of her business management classes, so she quickly excused herself from the group as well before Margaery could call her out on her lie.  And although Margaery told Sansa that she wouldn’t leave, Sansa could tell that Margaery was not really paying attention to her anyway, instead gawking at and smiling at Bronn who was standing over by one of the exits with two other bouncers Sansa had never met.

“Margaery, why don’t you just go over there and talk to him,” Sansa said as she downed the lemon drop martini Bronn had recommended, “I’ll be fine.  I’m happy just sitting here and listening to the music.”  Margaery chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she pondered her options.  “Really, Marge,” Sansa encouraged while leaning across the table to pat Margaery’s arm “I’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure, San?” asked Margaery while she yet again glanced over at Bronn.  He was waving at Margaery.  “I mean, I’m the one who dragged you here practically kicking and screaming.  I shouldn’t just leave you all alone!”

“I have no doubt that I will be just fine.  Now go before the poor guy starts to cry!”  teased Sansa.  Margaery giggled and gave Sansa a quick hug before leaving the table and walking over to Bronn.  As Margaery began flirting with Bronn, Sansa surveyed her surroundings.  _Hmm,_ Sansa wondered, _I wonder where Sandor is.  Maybe I could try to talk to him._

Right before Sansa had convinced Margaery to go talk to Bronn, she had casually grilled Margaery for information about Sandor.  Margaery grew suspicious instantly as to why Sansa wanted to know anything at all about such a frightening, hairy beast, but Sansa waved away her interest as mere curiosity.  Still skeptical, Margaery told Sansa what little she knew about Sandor:  He was from Scotland and had been living in Westeros about 2 years now; he was an expert in some flavor of martial arts, and according to Bronn, he was an amazing fighter and teacher; he was single, never married, and to Bronn’s knowledge, didn’t have any bastards running around.  That last fact had made Sansa’s nose wrinkle. 

Having never really pursued a man, Sansa could not believe how brazen she was feeling tonight.  _One martini and I’m already ready to pounce on him,_ Sansa giggled to herself, _this is why I shouldn’t drink!_ Even though it had been rather dark outside, Sansa swore that Sandor’s face was flushed when they shook hands, and she would bet her GPA that he wasn’t only flushed from his physical exertions.

Acting as nonchalant as possible, Sansa looked around the nightclub in hopes that she would find him.  She quickly spotted Sandor standing all alone at the opposite end of the dance floor farthest from the area of the bar where Sansa was seated.  Standing in the shadows, Sandor looked like a soldier on guard duty, his eyes scanning the large crowd continuously.  _He seems so serious,_ Sansa laughed to herself, _I sure would like to know what he’s thinking right now!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I bet you're wondering what Sandor is thinking too, hmm?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Sansa and Sandor's first conversation after their brief introduction outside of King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is shocked that such a pretty little bird like Sansa wants to talk to him.

Since he had come back inside the nightclub, Sandor had been replaying in his mind over and over again his brief yet highly stimulating encounter with Sansa Stark.  Remembering how she had looked like she wanted to jump him and the way her perfume smelled, Sandor once again started fantasizing about how Sansa might look outside of that alluring blue dress.  _C’mon, you dobber, snap out of it.  A girl like that wouldn’t be interested in an ugly dog like you._   No matter how much he told himself that she would never give him the time of day, he just could not stop his lustful thoughts.

Lost in the glory of his imagination, Sandor didn’t see her approaching him until she was standing directly in front of him.

“Hey, Sandor,” he heard Sansa’s voice speak below him.  Although Sansa was above-average in height and wearing the damnedest high heels, she still stood several inches beneath him.  Sandor looked down into her icy blue eyes and felt his heart race.  _She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,_ he thought as she smiled at him.

“Hey,” Sandor replied with a small grin.  Sandor was not an eloquent man, and having a gorgeous woman freely paying attention to him honestly made him feel a little unsettled.  “You doing alright?  I saw you sitting alone is why I ask.  I’ve been keeping an eye on you to make sure some fuck - person, I mean - doesn’t bother you.”

 _I can’t believe it!  He was looking out for me!_  Sansa mused.  “Oh,” Sansa grinned as non-chalantly as possible, “I’m fine.  A little lonely, though, now that my sister and all my friends have abandoned me.”  Sansa moved slightly closer to Sandor and tilted her head to the side as she studied him.  Believing that she must have been examining his scars, Sandor’s face fell.  He just knew that once she got a really good look at him, she’d run for the hills.

Instead, Sansa’s smiled widened to show her teeth.  “Would you mind if I hang out here with you for a little while?  There’s no telling when my sister or friends will notice me again!” she said with a chuckle.  Her laughter brought a smile to Sandor’s puzzled face.

“You want to talk?  To _me?_  Now?” Sandor asked in a daze, “About what?”  _Real smooth, you hound._

“Well, I don’t know,” Sansa said as she scrunched her nose and worried her lower lip.  Sandor’s eyes dropped to her mouth and watched as she bit her plump, crimson lip in concentration.  “Why don’t we take turns asking each other a question.  That way we can get to know each other.”  Sansa noticed how he was staring at her mouth.  _Oh, God, is he thinking about kissing me?_

“Alright,” Sandor replied, his eyes snapping back to meet hers.  _Shite, don’t scare the little bird off just yet.  Focus!_ “Who starts?”

“Me!” Sansa laughed, “I mean, unless of course, you want to…”

“No, no, ladies first,” Sandor smirked, “I may look like a dog, but I can be a gentleman.  And a gentleman always makes sure that the lady comes first.”  Sansa’s eyes widen as she wondered if he meant that to be an innuendo or if she was just so incredibly worked up right now that anything that he said would sound sexual.

“Ok, me first then.”  Sansa said, leaning against the wall beside him.  “Where are you from originally?  I’m just asking because of your accent.  You sound Scottish.”  _Yeah, I already know that, but hey, I need something to start with!_

Sandor looked absolutely pleased, “You’re right.  I’m from Glasgow.  You’re the first person here except for Tyrion Lannister who was smart enough to figure that out all on their own.”  Sandor watched Sansa’s face as she laughed.  _Gods, she is so beautiful,_ he thought as he studied her long, pale neck _._   Suddenly, Sandor’s cock twitched, which immediately forced him to start thinking about seeing Bronn naked to reign in his rapidly growing lust.

“Now it’s your turn,” Sansa beamed.  “Ask me something.”

“How old are you?” Sandor asked and regretted it the minute he did.  He could tell that she was probably close to 21, but if she answered that she was not, he was supposed to kick her out of the nightclub for underage drinking, especially since he had watched her drink that stupid lemon drop martini that Bronn and Margaery had talked her into trying.  If she said she was 21 and later he found out that she lied, then Sandor would lose respect for her because he never told lies and hated liars.  _Fuck, of all the things you could ask, you just had to go there!_

“I’m 20,” Sansa chirped brightly.  As the words came out of her mouth, she began to panic.  _Wait, he said that he was watching me…that means he saw me drinking!  What if he kicks me out?  What if he calls the police?  Oh, shit, what if he calls my parents?_  “Does this mean I have to leave?” she asked nervously, looking down at the floor and back up at Sandor, “I mean, I know that I’m really not supposed to be drinking,” she murmured as she glanced back to her table with her empty martini glass.

“No worries, lass,” Sandor replied, reaching out to tuck behind her ear a strand of coppery hair that had fallen loose from her up-do, “I’m not the fuzz.  And I’m not kicking you out.  In fact, of all the bloody people in this place, you’re the last person I’d want to leave.”  Sandor couldn’t believe what had just come pouring out of his mouth.  _Now where the fuck did that come from_?

Sansa’s blush spread quickly from her cheeks to her throat.  “Thanks, Sandor.  I don’t want to leave either.  I’m actually having a fantastic time.”  _It’s now or never, so get to it._  Sansa stepped even closer to Sandor, so close in fact that her breasts slightly grazed his arm.  She could feel Sandor’s body respond as he leaned a bit closer to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who do you think is going to give up a phone number first?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa channels her inner-Margaery, and Sandor gets the courage to ask her out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She may be inexperienced, but Sansa is on fire tonight!

“My turn again,” Sansa stated, “How old are you?”

“I’m 27,” Sandor replied.  “Are you a student?”

“Yes, I’m going to Westeros U.  I’m a pre-law student.  What do you do for fun?”

“I teach mixed martial arts when I’m not working here.  And what do _you_ do for fun?”

Sansa had to stop and think how she should answer this one.  “Well, I love to play the piano.  I would’ve liked to have majored in music, but my dad thought I should get a degree in something useful.”  _Geez, that was a mood killer,_ Sansa thought miserably.  “So, do you play any instruments?”

“I play piano, guitar, banjo and mandolin,” Sandor answered, “Me grannie taught me how to play most of them.  She was a really good musician.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” she gasped, “I’d love to hear you play sometime!”  With that last comment, Sansa realized that she had just kicked the door wide-open and handed Sandor an engraved invitation to ask her out.

 _Ok, Sansa, time to do what Margaery would do – go in for the kill._ “By the way, I wanted to tell you that you were amazing out there earlier.  I’ve never met anyone as strong as you.”  And taking a move right out of Margaery’s play book, Sansa playfully poked Sandor on the chest, “But I bet you hear that constantly from all the ladies.”

Sandor was now officially certain that he had died and gone to heaven.  _Did you see that?  She’s actually coming on to you Clegane!  Don’t fuck this up!_ “Well, now, you wouldn’t be jealous, would you?” he virtually whispered, stepping even closer to her, so closely that she now had to cast her eyes straight up to look at him.

Sansa knew that just about every other woman in her right mind would be a tad frightened by such a dangerous looking man towering over her, staring at her like he wanted to do something very sinful to her right now.  Sansa, however, was not every other woman tonight, and come hell or high water, she was going to explore what this attraction she felt toward him was all about.

“Is that your next question?” Sansa purred, arching one ginger eyebrow, using the most convincingly seductive voice that she could muster.  She slowly raised her hand, Sandor’s eyes tracking her movements, and reached up to stroke his upper arm.  _Margaery would be so freaking proud of me right now!  Wait, since when do I want Margaery to be proud of me?  Shit, what am I doing?  Am I even doing this right?_

Sandor smiled down at Sansa like the dog who caught the proverbial car. “No, little bird, my question is whether you’d like to go out with me sometime.”  Sandor couldn’t believe how forward he was being with this amazing, beautiful goddess who was about to make his crotch literally explode with desire.  His poor, aching cock, now uncomfortably pushing against the zipper of his jeans, would not yield no matter what disgusting image he tried to conjure in his head. 

“Yes, I’d like that, Sandor” she replied breathlessly, feeling the heat radiate from his body.  Feeling emboldened by her newly-discovered inner temptress, Sansa released his arm, reaching into her purse to find a pen.  “Here,” she said as she took Sandor’s hand and turned his wrist up toward her, “Let me give you my number.”  She jotted down her name and cell number right on Sandor’s skin.  As she touched him, she was quite certain that she was at risk of spontaneously combusting on the spot.  Sansa looked up after she finished and could see the raw lust in his eyes.  _Yes!  I did it!  Holy shit, I did it!_   Sansa thought proudly, _I can’t wait to tell Margaery that I’m really going to go on a date!_

As Sandor was about to ask Sansa if he could get her some water to drink, Bronn came bounding toward him.

“Hey, man,” Bronn said as he whacked Sandor on his large back, “Tyrion has his knickers in a wad.  Apparently, he found out about you kicking that kid out of the club earlier.  He wants you to get your arse up to his office.”  By the glare Sandor was shooting at him and the flush of embarrassment that was spreading rapidly across Sansa’s face and neck, Bronn suddenly realized that he had just interrupted something.

“Tell Tyrion that he can fuck off,” Sandor hissed, “The little shite I threw out deserved it.  He put his hands on Shae.”

“Aye, that he did,” Bronn agreed with a nod of his head, “Drogo and Tormund told me that they saw the kid trying to get too fresh with Shae and that he wouldn’t stop.  They also said that before they could get to them, you’d already grabbed the little cock-sucker.”  Bronn looked at Sandor and then back at Sansa.  They were staring at each other once again.  “So, you see, mate?” Bronn continued with a grin, the realization setting in that Sansa and Sandor were interested in each other, “Tyrion’s not pissed at you; he’s wanting to thank you for taking care of her.  Hell, Sandor, go get your praise.  You just saved the honor of the wee little man’s maiden, though she hardly deserves that title!”

Neither Sandor nor Sansa appreciated Bronn’s attempt at humor.

Sandor gritted his teeth.  _I’m going to strangle that dwarf,_ he hissed inwardly, _and you’re next.  Mate_.

“It’s ok, Sandor,” Sansa smiled at him, “I should go find my friends.  And Arya.  God knows what they’re up to!”  Sansa regretted that Sandor had to leave right now, but she knew deep-down that it was probably best that they separate.  If Sansa was not too careful tonight, she just might do something more than she was really ready to do.

Bronn squinted his eyes and surveyed the situation, “I’ll take care of the little lady here, mate.  You go see Tyrion before he starts drinking.  I really don’t want to have to deal with a drunk dwarf again tonight.”

“Fine,” Sandor growled at Bronn.  Turning to look back at Sansa, Sandor’s whole demeanor softened when their eyes met, a subtly that Bronn was quick to notice.  “I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s ok with you.”

“Absolutely!” Sansa grinned widely, “I’ll look forward to it!”  And with that, Sandor backed up slowly while smiling at Sansa.  Finally, he turned on his heels and stomped off toward the stairs which led to the Lannisters’ offices.  Bronn, who was standing beside Sansa, noticed how she continued to watch Sandor even as he disappeared into the crowd of people.

“Well, now, shall I escort you to your table?” Bronn laughed while shaking his head in disbelief.  He extended his arm toward Sansa, which she readily accepted, “This has been a most interesting evening, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked her with a grin.

“Yes, it truly has,” Sansa replied with a satisfied smirk, “but I’m betting the week to come will be even more so.” 

When Sansa returned to her table, her two friends and sister had already beaten her back.  She had to endure a tremendous amount of inquiry as to why she had been talking to Sandor, especially by Arya, who called him “that fucking monster.”  Sansa told her to shut her mouth and mind her business.  Margaery had to step in to separate the sisters, and then Brienne told Sansa why Arya despised Sandor.

The first time that they had gotten into King’s Landing a few months ago, Arya had tried to use a fake ID to buy beer even after Brienne had warned her not to do so.  Sandor happened to be standing at the bar and saw her attempting to use it.  Before Brienne could reason with Arya, he approached them, telling Arya with a smirk that her ridiculous attempt at a fake ID was the worse he had ever seen.  He then added that although she was old enough to be allowed in the club, she was required to wear a stamp on her hand so the staff knew they were not allowed to serve her alcohol.  When Sandor demanded that Arya hand over the fake ID, she shoved it down her blouse and into her bra, barking at him to get bent.  Now highly pissed and stepping into her personal space, Sandor warned her with a severely menacing look that if he wanted that ID bad enough, he’d have it.

Of course, neither Sandor nor Arya were listening to Brienne’s attempts to mediate the situation.  When Arya told Sandor that she’d like to see him try to get it, he growled one final warning that he would most assuredly have that ID.  Unfazed, she flat-out refused to hand it over, instead telling him go fuck himself.  With that deluge, Sandor lost it.  He grabbed Arya’s arm, pulled her to him, shoved his giant hand down the front of her dress, and pulled the fake ID out of her bra in two seconds flat.

Now steaming hot, Arya proceeded to cuss him loudly and thoroughly, making several heads in the club turn to see the show.  Sandor simply gave her his cheesiest grin while waving the fake ID at her.  Arya, who was barely five feet tall, called him an “ugly asshole” and attempted to slap the side of his face that wasn’t scarred.  Years of martial arts training kicking in, Sandor easily caught her hand in mid-air like some hero in an action flick, calling her a “crazy wolf-bitch” (presumably because Arya’s tattoo was in plain sight, thanks to her sleeveless top).  With a huge smile, he then unceremoniously carried Arya kicking and screaming over his shoulder right out of the club.

Just hearing Brienne retell that story brought tears to everyone’s eyes, except for Arya, of course.  Arya told them they could all go to hell, storming off to visit Gendry again.  After the laughter subsided, Brienne congratulated Sansa for making the first move, and Margaery made Sansa promise that if she ever did anything more than kiss Sandor, on pain of torture she would have to confess all of the gory details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is about to go on her first date with Sandor...any guesses as to what their first date will be like?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting some advice from Margaery, Sansa goes on an unconventional first date with Sandor. Sandor teaches Sansa some self-defense moves at her request, and boy, does he take his job seriously!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends with an extremely intense moment, but please remember that Sandor teaches self-defense...real-life simulation is part of the training!

Reminiscing about her fantastic encounter at the nightclub last night with Sandor, Sansa sat on her bed in a pair of black running shorts and a fitted black V-neck t-shirt while brushing her long, copper hair into a high ponytail.  True to his word, Sandor had phoned her the next afternoon, asking her if she was still interested in going out on a date.  _Hell, yeah!_  Sansa had thought, but thankfully, she was able to maintain her composure long enough on the phone for the two of them to arrange their forthcoming rendezvous.

When Sandor had asked Sansa what she would like to do, she suggested that he give her a private self-defense training lesson.  The idea had actually come from Margaery, who previously had explained in vivid detail how Bronn had given her the very same private lesson last weekend which then led to some extremely erotic activities off the gym floor.

Sansa was not sure exactly how far she was ready to take it with Sandor today, but she definitely knew she was desperate to do… _something._  Just thinking about having any sort of physical contact with him sent tingles up and down her entire form.  And having him training her in self-defense moves meant that he would be touching her…touching her _a lot._

Although Sansa had managed to hold on to her virtue this long, she was not immune to desire.  She had plenty of fantasies about having sex, her ideas of what it would be like coming straight from the pages of her romance novels or some raunchy cable show she ran across late at night.  Even when she thought that she was in love with Joffrey, she envisioned their first time together as an act full of sheets covered in rose petals and sonnets written in their honor. 

Nothing had ever felt quite like this.  What she wanted to do to Sandor felt more like something straight out of the Kama Sutra. 

Margaery, in her usual blunt manner, had counseled Sansa over coffee earlier that morning that the visceral reaction she had felt last night when laying eyes on Sandor was nothing more than her hermetically sealed libido finally being ripped wide open.  Although hearing her best friend assure her that she was damn well old enough to sleep with Sandor if she wanted him, Sansa couldn’t help but feel both giddy and terrified all at the same time.

So, heeding Margaery’s advice, Sansa explained to Sandor that she really wanted to learn some moves so that she would know how to protect herself in the future and that she also was dying to see him in action.  Happily, Sandor agreed to her suggestion and offered to train her on Monday afternoon since that day he had no clients scheduled and did not have to work that night at the club.   Now that her classes at Westeros University were finished for the day, Sansa was preparing herself to meet him at his gym.

As Sansa finally pulled into the parking lot of Sandor’s apartment complex, she parked in a spot just outside his door and grabbed her cell phone to send Margaery one last text before meeting Sandor.

_Sansa:  OK, I’m here.  I’m going in.  I’m so nervous!_

_Margaery:  You’ll be fine!  You’ve come this far - don’t second-guess it now.  You want him, right?_

_Sansa:  Of course!!!_

_Margaery:  Then get in there and mount that bad boy._

_Sansa:  C’mon!_

_Margaery:  Stop texting me until you have something to report._

_Sansa:  Report?_

_Margaery:  Like how your first blow job went.  And if you swallowed._

_Sansa:  Why are we friends again???_

_Margaery:  Because you love me.  And don’t forget to text if you’re spending the night so I won’t send the cops looking for you._

Shaking her head in amusement, Sansa giggled, put her cell phone on vibrate, and tossed it back into her purse.  Catching one last glance at her face in the vanity mirror, Sansa hopped out of the car and walked to door of the apartment number Sandor had given her over the phone. 

Sandor had spent his Monday morning working out to alleviate some of the tension he felt about his upcoming date with Sansa.  He had been surprised when Sansa suggested that he work with her on some self-defense moves and had been flattered that she wanted to see him do what he did best.  Now that the time had arrived, Sandor was scared that he would do something to fuck it up and make her run away from him.

So, after breakfast, he had lifted weights, gone for a run, sparred a couple of hours with Bronn, and still managed to have just enough time to grab a shower before she was scheduled to arrive.  No matter how hard he had tried to focus on his normal morning routine, his thoughts continuously drifted to the beautiful, tall, red-head with the sing-song voice and the eyes the color of the sky.  As the cold water from the shower had beat down on his muscular frame, Sandor decided to take matters into his own hands, willing his brain and cock alike to heel before the young woman arrived at his apartment.  Slipping his sizeable fist around his throbbing cock, he had to bite his tongue forcefully to keep from shouting her name when he came.

Remaining barefoot, he threw on a faded black t-shirt with some MMA logo from a competition he had won back home in Glasgow and a light-weight pair of black athletic pants.  When he had heard the gentle knock echoing from the gym below, he took a deep breath, steadying his nerves as he jogged downstairs, answering the call of the siren who was summoning his presence.

“Hey,” Sandor said as he opened the door.  His eyes quickly took in Sansa’s lithe form as she stood on the porch.  Not wearing much make up and dressed for a work out, Sansa looked just as alluring as she had when he first saw her at King’s Landing.  _She’s gorgeous even in that,_ Sandor groaned inwardly, _How the fuck am I supposed to touch her and keep my shite together?_

“Hi, Sandor,” chirped Sansa, “I’m really looking forward to my lesson.”  She noticed that his shoulder-length, wavy black hair was slightly damp as if he had just taken a shower.  His shirt looked old and worn, just like the type of t-shirt a girl would want to steal to sleep in if she stayed for the night.  It hugged his huge frame perfectly, allowing Sansa to see the ridges and planes of his chest and stomach as well as the bulging muscles in his upper arms.  Sansa had to squeeze her legs together slightly as the sight of him.  _Please oh, please don’t let him notice!_

Oblivious to Sansa’s lust, Sandor stepped aside to allow her to enter.  He closed the door and led her to the main area where he taught his clients.  “Wow,” she said in awe as she put her purse down on a bench along the wall, “This place is amazing!  Did you and Bronn do all of this by yourselves?”

Sandor felt a strong sense of pride at her comment.  “Yeah, we set up the whole thing.  Jaime gave us the money to buy the equipment and the gear when we moved here from Glasgow.  We work our arses off at the club five days a week in exchange for this gym and our apartment above it.  I earn a wage, but it’s mostly enough to cover living expenses.  We couldn’t have afforded this place otherwise.”  Sandor wondered if she would think less of him once she realized he wasn’t a wealthy man like the guys whom he imagined ran in her social circle.

“Well, the place is fabulous no matter how you obtained it,” Sansa replied with a grin.  Hoping that she did not look as nervous as she felt, she quickly scanned herself in one of the floor-length mirrors on the back wall by the free weights.  _Stop worrying,_ she told herself, _you can do this!  Make small talk!_ “So, what kind of martial arts do you do?”

Sandor grabbed his water bottle off the bench and took a long swig while he watched Sansa walk slowly around his gym, examining various awards and trophies which he and Bronn had collected over the years.  “I started out with krav maga, kickboxing, and jiu jitsu,” Sandor started, putting his bottle down on the bench and walking toward her, “After that, I also studied a bit of judo, boxing, and tae kwon do.”  When Sansa’s study of his numerous awards traveled toward his face, she saw him staring up at the wall as well.

“I used to compete, but I didn’t ever do it for the bloody titles and trophies,” Sandor said, now looking off into the distance as he remembered his troubled youth and how his training with Ray had saved him, “I loved to fight.  Still do.  Fighting is the sweetest thing there is.”  As Sandor’s eyes met hers, he realized that she was staring at him.  Sandor continued, holding her gaze, “But after a while, my instructor talked me into teaching self-defense.  You know, the kind of stuff you show the ladies so they can get away from some fucker who wants to hurt them.  Some fucker like my brother was.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and mouth opened slightly at that comment.  “Hey, sorry,” Sandor apologized as he looked down at the mats, crossing his arms self-consciously in front of his massive chest, “I have a bit of foul mouth, in case you hadn’t noticed that already.  And I didn’t mean to dredge up all of that old shite anyway.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Sansa smiled soothingly, “I have four brothers, so I’ve had a lifetime to get use to that kind of talk.”  Sansa lightly tapped Sandor on the forearm, “And you’ve already had the opportunity to get to know my sister, so I’ve been told.  I’m quite certain that Arya could cuss you under the table any day of the week.”  With that joke, Sandor barked out a laugh.  “So, where do we start?” she asked calmly.

“We’ll start over here,” Sandor said, motioning for her to come toward him over on the mats.  “I’ll show you a couple of basic release techniques that you can use if some prick tries to grab you.”  Sansa couldn’t help but giggle.  “First, though, take off your shoes and toss them over there with your stuff.  Then we’ll stretch you out so your muscles don’t get too sore tomorrow.”

As they cycled through several stretches, Sandor about lost his cool when she bent down to touch her toes while standing directly in front of him.  Her nicely rounded ass was sticking up in the air not far from his face like some wicked offering to the gods.  _Fuck, keep it together Clegane,_ he admonished himself, _you haven’t even touched her yet and you’re already getting a hard-on!_

After some time spent stretching, Sandor instructed Sansa to take hold of him first around his wrists and then around his neck, a feat Sansa was only able to accomplish after he dropped to his knees in front of her.  Sandor walked her through several ways to successfully get away from such an attack.  After Sansa practiced several times with him lightly grabbing her, he could tell that she was beginning to feel fairly confident of her abilities.  Sandor told her to get some water, which she did.

“So, now the fun part,” he smirked as she put her bottle down on the bench beside his, “Come to me.”  Sansa happily approached Sandor as he had instructed, standing directly in front of him.  Without telling her what he was about to do, Sandor fiercely grabbed one of Sansa’s wrists as tightly as he could without causing a bruise.

She yelped in surprise. “Hey, what are you doing?” she demanded.  When he took two steps forward and slightly tightened his grip, she cried out, “Sandor, you’re starting to hurt me!”

“The lady’s starting to panic,” Sandor said smugly, a slight smirk spreading across his face.  “I want you to try to get away from me,” he continued as he hardened his glare, “And I’m not going to take it easy on you, lass.  I want you to feel what it’s like to be afraid.”  Sansa’s heart began to pound in her chest.  She remembered how Joffrey, who was not anywhere near as strong as Sandor, had grabbed her and how helpless she had felt when she couldn’t get away from him.

“Now fight me!” Sandor shouted loudly, startling her.  Sansa desperately tried to implement some of the techniques that he had just taught her how to use if ever in this very situation, but no matter how much she struggled, she could not make his damn large hand budge.  Sandor just watched her as she helplessly floundered.

Giving up on what he had instructed her to do earlier, Sansa began kicking wildly at his legs, trying to land a punch anywhere she could with her one free hand.  No matter what she did, he effortlessly dodged her or blocked her attempts to make contact.  Within a minute, her face was reddened from the exertion, a few beads of sweat now glistening on her forehead.  Sandor remained as calm and as relaxed as if he were taking a stroll in the park.

“You have to fight smarter, Sansa!” he yelled, yanking her by the wrist and harshly pulling her toward him.  He twirled her around so fast that she let out a shriek, landing roughly with her back smacked up against his chest.  For a fleeting moment, she found it comical that the top of her head did not even touch his chin.

Still holding on to her wrist, Sandor wrapped his other arm around her neck, pulling her tightly against his body.  He could feel her chest heaving below his arm as she panted.  With her one free hand, Sansa started to frantically claw at the enormous arm lodged under her neck, wiggling and twisting in a futile attempt to get away.  Sandor laughed darkly, walking backward slowly, literally dragging her along with him.

“Looks like you’re coming with me, little bird,” Sandor bent down to whisper in her ear.  He could see Sansa’s eyes widen in shock, “This is the part where the raper has his way with you.  So you’d bloody well better start fighting for real, girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath! Sandor isn't a rapist, I swear! You'll see in the next chapter that he's trying to simulate a real-life attack, that's all. Hang in there with me, ok?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor teaches Sansa how to get away from an attacker, and he inadvertently teaches her how to perform a completely different skill in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's showtime, folks! Sansa is ready to dive in head-first into her burgeoning passions, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Sansa was both equally shocked and confused when Sandor had grabbed her and yanked her flush with his body.  He had been nothing short of the perfect gentleman the entire time he had trained her, save for his proclivity to cuss.  _Shit, what I am I supposed to do now?_ Struggling in his grasp seemed hopeless.  As he began to slowly drag her across the mat, however, she caught sight of his reflection in the floor-length mirror across the gym.  When his eyes met hers, his look of concentration was swiftly replaced with a huge smile and a quick wink.

 _He just smiled at me…and winked?_ Suddenly, it dawned on Sansa that Sandor had planned this all along.  He wanted to mess with her head because he was trying to simulate a real-life attack.  _If he wants a fight,_ Sansa mused, steeling her nerves, _I’ll give him one!_

Determined to prove to him as well as to herself that she was no victim, Sansa dug deep inside herself, using the breathing techniques Sandor had shown her how to refocus her fear.  Running on pure adrenaline, she repeatedly slammed the back of her head into Sandor’s large chest, causing him to slightly loosen his grip.  She then began to twist like a wild cat, using her one free elbow to pummel his stomach.

Sandor shouted praise at her, “That’s it, girl!  Fight!  Grab my hand!  Yank on my fingers like you’re peeling a banana!  Use your body - turn!”

Managing to turn slightly toward him, Sansa stomped the top his feet with her heel as hard as she could.  By peeling off his fingers, she finally managed to loosen his grip, whirling around in his arms with her ponytail whipping in the air.  Now thinking only of the steps that he had taught her earlier, Sansa grabbed the front of his t-shirt with both hands, yanking him forward, bringing her knee up as hard and as fast as she could, landing a direct hit to Sandor’s inner thigh slightly below his groin.

“Fuck!” Sandor hissed, “That hurt!”  Sansa released him as quickly as she had grabbed him.  He bent down to massage the area of his leg which would surely be sporting a lovely bruise in the morning.

“Oh, God, Sandor, I’m so sorry!” Sansa cried out in between ragged breaths, one hand covering her mouth in embarrassment, “I really didn’t mean to – “

“No worries, lass” Sandor chuckled loudly as he stood to his full, impressive height, “You did exactly what you should’ve done.  You refocused your fear and got away.  I’m glad to know you’re a fighter, not a quitter.  And my balls are still intact, so there is that.”

Whether it was the stressful situation that she had just endured or the sheer insanity of it all, Sansa immediately burst out laughing so hard that she let out a rather unladylike snort.  The swine-like sound caught Sandor off-guard, and they both laughed together until they were exhausted.  As their laughter subsided, Sansa was struck by how handsome Sandor was, scars and all.  In fact, Sansa realized that she hadn’t even really paid much attention to his scars since her initial encounter with Sandor at King’s Landing.

“Sandor, really, I’m so, so sorry!” Sansa chirped, “I just got so carried away…you made it seem so _real._   I had absolutely no idea that I was capable of all that!”  Sansa smiled widely at him, stepping closer to him, reaching out to hold his hand.  “You made me feel so…strong.  Fierce, even…”  Her voice trailed off as she looked up into his steel-gray eyes.  Although he was smiling at her, she could tell that his eyes were staring at her mouth, his jaw clenched ever-so-slightly.  _I think he’s trying to stop himself from kissing me!_ she realized, a smile curling the corner of her mouth.  “You’ll forgive me then?”

“How could I do anything but forgive you, little bird?” Sandor muttered, his voice lowering as he moved his eyes downward, examining where Sansa was holding his hand.  She was stroking the top of his hand with her thumb in slow, deliberate circles.  “You’re the most beautiful creature that I’ve ever seen, and I haven’t a clue why you want to be here with me,” he admitted, looking up from their joined hands and back to her face.  He stared deeply into her crystal eyes in total disbelief that a woman like Sansa would ever want to be in the company of a disfigured, angry, broken man like him.

Sansa and Sandor’s eyes locked, and before she could ruin the moment with her ability to overthink a situation, she dove into her raging passion head-first.  Closing the distance between them, she let go of his hand, quickly wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling as hard as she could to get him to lower his mouth to hers.

Sandor’s body stiffened in amazement.  It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, but once he realized what she was asking of him, he swiftly responded to her demands.  He bent down and captured her lips in a kiss, reveling in the taste.  Her hands went straight for his hair while his hands wrapped around her waist.  As he pulled her body up against his, she could feel his hardened cock pressing firmly against her stomach.  Sansa was a little afraid but so turned on and so desperately curious that she willed herself not to stop.

Wanting to deepen the kiss, Sandor tilted his head for better access and swiped his tongue across her bottom lip, tacitly asking for permission.  Although she had never kissed a guy like she was kissing him right now, Sansa knew that she wanted to find out what he was about to do.  She parted her lips and allowed his tongue to enter her mouth, the new sensation causing her to moan with want.  Their tongues tangled together, fighting for control, and their kisses grew rougher and more passionate, each of one of them desperate to consume the other.

In one rapid move, Sandor reached down to grab a hold of Sansa’s thighs and lifted her off the ground.  Instinctively, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.  Once she felt his manhood pressing up against her cunny through the extremely thin fabric of her shorts, Sansa broke their kiss and let out a loud gasp.  Sandor recaptured her mouth, and as his mouth battled her for dominance, he swiftly moved forward, headed toward the wall closest to him.  He proceeded to push her back up against the wall while holding her firmly in place with his hips.

Sliding his hands up her thighs and under the legs of her shorts, Sandor grabbed her ass, holding on tightly with his enormous hands.  He bent down to kiss her creamy white neck, biting down softly along her pulse point.  Moaning in delight, Sansa threw her head back to give him better access.  His body responded to her by slowing thrusting against her as he kneaded her ass, making his way down her neck, gently nipping and sucking until he reached the place where her t-shirt dipped to expose the line between her cleavage.  Encouraged by her moans and whimpers, Sandor licked the top of her breasts, biting down gently. 

All of the sensations Sandor was extracting from her body began to overwhelm Sansa all at once.  She was practically drowning in her newly found pleasure.  With his stiff cock nudging her clothed cunny and his mouth ravaging her breasts, she felt like she might burst into flames right in the middle of his gym.  Surprising herself at just how much she wanted him right now, she opted to take control of the situation before her rational brain lost the battle with her raging hormones. 

She decided to try something that Margaery had described to her in vivid detail this morning when Sansa asked what she should do if she wanted something physical but wasn’t quite ready for the whole shebang.  _“Stop letting your fears control you,”_ Sansa remembered her best friend instructing her, _“Decide what you want and go for it.  Tell the rest of the world to go to hell.  It’s your life.”_ With Margaery’s words ringing in her ears, she let go of Sandor’s neck with one hand, sliding it all the way down his well-defined chest, tentatively stroking the enormous bulge through his athletic pants.

“Fuck, Sansa,” Sandor spat out as he broke their kiss, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me, sweetheart.”

Sansa stared down at her hand in astonishment.  _I’m actually touching him!_  She had never touched a man like this before, yet here she was, groping him like she actually knew what she was doing.  As Sansa continued to stroke his manhood through his pants, she began to wonder just how far she could take this.

“Sandor,” she panted, “Can I touch you?  I mean, _really_ touch you?”  She wasn’t really sure if at a time like this she needed to ask his permission, but she wasn’t really sure about anything right now.  Sandor simply nodded his consent.  Sansa’s hand dipped inside the elastic waistband of his pants and underwear, following the line of coarse, dark hairs until she reached her target.  Gingerly wrapping her small hand around his smooth cock, she gave him a tentative squeeze.

“Oh, fuck,” Sandor muttered as his eyes closed, his forehead lowering to rest on top of her head.  Sansa began lightly stroking his shaft, exploring what movements seemed to cause him the most pleasure.  She rubbed her fingers around the head and felt moisture.  Circling her thumb around it, she wrapped her hand around him firmly and began to pump.

“Sansa, please,” Sandor whispered, “Don’t stop.”  He let go of her with one hand long enough to shove his underwear and pants down his hips until his cock and her hand were freed.  Emboldened by his sudden desperation, Sansa followed her instincts and continued pumping his member faster and faster.  Her hand slid from base to tip over and over again, sometimes stopping to rub her thumb in quick circles around the tip before pumping again.  His breathing became labored as he rutted into her hand faster as well, cursing under his breath and offering praises.  Feeling an odd sense of power, Sansa watched herself in the mirrored wall as she continued her attentions.  Sandor looked totally wrecked and completely helpless right now, all because of her.

“Is this good?” Sansa questioned, “Am I doing this right?”  She desperately wanted to please him right here, right now.

“Yes, fuck, yes, you’re amazing,” Sandor moaned, “Oh, fuck, Sansa, if you don’t stop, I’m going to spill all over your pretty little hand.”  Her heart was beating like a hummingbird.  She could feel Sandor’s heartbeat racing as well.  Her panties were now soaking wet from her own arousal.

“Then come,” Sansa breathed into his good ear, “I want to see you come, Sandor.  Do it.”  _Damn, you sound like you’ve done this before!_

“Fucking fuck, oh…” Sandor’s pants ended in a shout, his movements suddenly stilling for the briefest moment before coming all over her hand and his stomach.  Sansa watched his face intently, studying how his eyes slammed shut and how he looked almost as if he were in pain right before he came.  Riding out the waves of his orgasm, Sandor thrust into her hand a couple more times before his legs gave out.  As he crashed onto the floor right smack on his bare ass, Sansa squealed, sliding down the wall, her legs still wrapped around his waist, landing unceremoniously with a thud onto his wet, sticky lap.

“Sansa, love, you’re unbelievable,” Sandor murmured as he placed several tender kisses on her lips and cheeks, “I had no idea that your lesson today would include that.”  He let go of her ass with one hand, reaching up to tuck a stray auburn lock behind her ear.  She leaned into his touch.  _I don’t deserve her,_ Sandor thought, _I could never deserve her._

“Well, I kind of did get a lesson in _that_ today, actually,” Sansa tittered as she bit her bottom lip in embarrassment.  Sandor’s face knotted up in confusion.  _Best to get it over with,_ Sansa sighed,   _Tell him how backwards you really are so you won’t be as devastated when he dumps your virgin butt for a woman who knows what she’s doing._

“What in the world are you talking about?” Sandor asked, now gently stroking her face.  His heart began to race as the thought that she might just jump up and leave him sitting here raced through his brain, “I don’t understand.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes as she told him, “Um, well…you see, I’m a virgin, Sandor.  I’ve never done that with a man since…well, e _ver?_ ” Sansa confessed, reaching out with one of her hands, twisting the fabric of Sandor’s t-shirt between her fingers.  His one good eyebrow shot up to his hairline.  “Don’t laugh at me, please,” she begged, the tears beginning to sting her eyes.  All of her bravado had evaporated as quickly as it had come.

“Laugh at you?” Sandor asked, a playful smirk forming on his lips as the information started to settle in, “Now why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because any other guy would, that’s why,” Sansa huffed in frustration at how idiotic she sounded at the moment, “You think I’m a stupid little girl now, don’t you?”  Her tears began to trickle down her flushed face.  Simply unable to deal with him if he started laughing at her right now, she lowered her eyes in shame.  _God, you’re such an idiot!  Why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut?_

“Sansa, love, look at me,” Sandor demanded, taking a deep breath.  He took her chin in his hand, lifting her face until their eyes met.  He could see the confusion plainly written all over her face.  _Stupid bloody wanker,_ he scolded himself, _you should’ve known better than to go that far that fast with her._ “I don’t think you’re an idiot.  Far from it.  You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever known.  You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re so fucking sexy that I can’t even remember my name half the time when you’re talking to me.”  Sandor wiped her tears with the hem of his t-shirt.  “Stay with me a while?  No more of that, though,” he grinned, motioning to his lap, “Not that I don’t want to, mind you.  But let’s just have fun hanging out, yeah?”

Sansa let out a gush of air that she was holding while Sandor had been talking.  _He still wants me,_ Sansa thought to herself in amazement, _and he doesn’t think I’m a total loser even though I just told him I’m the world’s oldest virgin!_ “OK.  I’d like that.”

Sandor smiled with a devilish grin, “I promise to keep my bloody mitts to myself this time.  Maybe we could go grab a bite to eat?  That is, after I, uh…take care of this…” he said as he bucked his hips up into her lap.

Sansa threw her head back and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.  Then sitting up straight, she playfully whacked Sandor on the shoulder, “I think that’s a terrific idea!  So, tell me, where’s the bathroom, anyway?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that learning self-defense could be so darn fun?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor spend some time getting to know each other over lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two just can't seem to keep their hands to themselves!

After Sandor had run upstairs to his apartment to clean himself and to find a fresh pair of athletic pants, he jogged back downstairs, stealing a quick kiss from Sansa while she was washing her hands in the gym’s bathroom.  They hopped into his black, vintage Jeep Wrangler, leaving the top down, and drove to his favorite deli for a late lunch.  When Sandor first got into the Jeep, Sansa found it downright comical that while seated, his head stood well above the windshield.

Sandor’s only response to her good-natured teasing was to smirk, replying with a blaze of innuendo, “What can I say?  I’m a big fucker.”

That comment had Sansa blushing from cheeks to chest and crossing her legs rapidly, which only served to place a self-satisfied smile on Sandor’s extremely smug face.

Even though the cool air was whipping around her while he drove, Sansa felt like her skin was on fire as she rode beside him in the Jeep, just inches away from Sandor’s sizeable hand that was busy shifting gears while driving through town.  _The gods help me, but I want those hands on me again soon,_ she thought with a sigh.

At the beginning of their lunch, Sansa tried to stop herself numerous times from asking him questions like she was firing a machine gun.  Because she was surprisingly nervous, she couldn’t seem to stop herself, crossing the lines of social etiquette from being conversational to being downright nosy.  After the fifth time that she apologized for getting too personal too fast for a first date, Sandor couldn’t help himself, reminding her that they had already gotten a tad too personal for a first date, so she could stop beating herself up about it.  The extraordinarily pleased smirk and raised eyebrow that he shot her made her want to pull him across the damn table and kiss that smug look right off his face.

Throughout their time together, she found it difficult to keep her hands to herself for very long.  She found any excuse to touch his arm, bump his leg under the table, or reach out to touch his soft, black hair.  Sansa had never laughed so hard in her life as she did during her conversation with Sandor.  His ability to put her at ease with his self-deprecating humor only served to endear him to her even more.  He was sexy, tough, intelligent, and humorous, and by the end of their lunch, Sansa wanted nothing more than to climb him like a tree. 

For Sandor, he was convinced that his time spent in Sansa’s company was a dream from which he would soon awaken and that he would find himself banished once again to his lonely existence.  In his youth, he had felt awkward around girls, thanks to his incredible size and his facial scarring.  While still in school, he never went out on one single date; he was too afraid of rejection to even attempt to ask a girl out.

After his last round of reconstructive surgery in his late teens, Sandor’s appearance was about as good as it would ever get.  With enough ass kicking from Bronn, he occasionally felt brave enough to approach a woman at the pub.  The ones who could get past his face were only interested in getting into his pants.  The majority of the time, however, Sandor kept his distance from women, preferring to be alone than risk the pain and the embarrassment of rejection.

For the first time since his grandmother’s death, Sandor truly felt like he could be himself around a woman.  Since the first time that she had approached him at the nightclub, Sansa had an uncanny way of making him feel special, appreciated, and desired.  Her constant eye contact and the way she always seemed to find an excuse to touch him only helped to increase his appreciation of such a magnificent creature.

After spending two hours at the deli, he decided that it was time to bite the proverbial bullet and lay his heart open to rejection once again.  “ _In for a penny, in for a pound,” as Grannie used to say,_ he thought.  He reached out across the small table where they sat and held her hand in his.  “Sansa,” he said quietly, “I’ve had one of the best days of my life.  Thank you.”  Sandor looked into her clear, blue eyes and saw nothing but joy reflected back at him.

“Me too, Sandor,” Sansa replied as she lowered her eyes to look at their intertwined hands, “I have really enjoyed getting to know you.  I wish this day didn’t have to end.”  She looked back up to see his smile quickly fade and his eyes looking downward.  She knew that he must have misunderstood her statement and thought she meant to tell him to get lost.  _Oh, you idiot!  Could you think before you speak next time?_ Sansa chastised herself.  “Sandor,” Sansa said as she placed her other hand on top of his and rubbed it gently, “I’m not telling you that because I don’t want to see you again.  I just have to get home to study for a quiz tomorrow in my Criminology class.  Trust me, I’d much rather sit here with you than go back to my apartment and study all night.”

Sandor’s eyes slowly raised to meet hers, and once he realized that Sansa was serious, he let out the breath he had been holding.  “Alright, then, let’s get you back to your car so you can get home.  Can’t be responsible for you fucking up your quiz,” Sandor said with a toothy grin as he rose from the table.

They held hands as they left the deli, walking through the parking lot to Sandor’s Jeep.   “I’d like to see you again, Sansa,” he blurted out just as she was about to climb into her seat.  _Well, there it is, Clegane.  You ready for this?_

“I’d like that, too,” Sansa said, turning around to look at Sandor as he held open her door.  _He looks so scared,_ she thought while looking into his eyes, _He still doesn’t believe that I want to be with him_.  Without giving herself a chance to overanalyze her actions, she grabbed Sandor by the front of his t-shirt with both hands, standing on the tips of her toes to make herself as tall as she could, placing a chaste kiss directly on his scarred cheek.

“So, big boy, when and where?” Sansa purred.  Sandor’s eyes were blown wide at her overtly suggestive tone.  Feeling bold, she slipped her hands under the hem of his t-shirt, running her hands through the coarse hairs on his chiseled stomach.  His cock sprang to attention, her hands continuing to travel northward up to his chest.  “And why aren’t you kissing me back?” she grinned.

“What are you playing at, little bird?” he groaned hoarsely.

“I’m not playing with anything…yet,” Sansa said with a wink.

“You don’t say?” he growled, quickly grabbing her by her small waist, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.  As their tongues explored each other’s mouths, Sansa moaned, continuing to run her dainty hands through his chest hair, lightly scratching at his chest and stomach.  With a feral groan, Sandor’s own hands traveled southward, finding themselves holding on to her pert posterior.  He pulled her body flush with his, letting her feel his hardened cock poke her stomach through his athletic pants.  Undaunted, Sansa instinctively moaned in pleasure, allowing him to rub himself against her body.

Their extremely public make-out session continued until they heard several honks from cars passing by them on the main road as well as an extremely suggestive shout from a very supportive onlooker who was going into the deli.  They broke apart slowly, both of them panting, Sansa’s forehead resting on Sandor’s chest.

He chuckled darkly, his tongue darting out to taste her on his kiss-swollen lips, “I’m fairly certain that if you don’t get into your seat immediately, I’ll drag you back to my apartment and do all sorts of unspeakable things to you, virgin or not.”

“Right now, I really wish you would,” Sansa boldly confessed as she raised her eyes to meet Sandor’s shocked expression.

“Sansa…” Sandor warned, his eyes narrowing.

“I know, I know, studying…right.  OK, let’s go,” Sansa chirped while hopping up into her seat.  “God, what I wouldn’t give to not have class tomorrow,” she muttered as she laid her head back on the headrest.

Sandor laughed, shutting her door and walking around to his side of the Jeep.  “Are you always this impatient?” he asked, adjusting himself before buckling his seat belt.

“Never,” Sansa replied with a smirk, “Not until now.”  As they drove back to Sandor’s apartment, she thought about how rapidly her life had changed.  In a few short days, she had left behind the girl who blushed when her friends talked about sex, transforming into a young woman who thought of nothing else.  “Sandor,” she tentatively asked as they entered the apartment complex, “Will you be patient with me?  I mean, I really want to do things with you…to you…I’m just not sure…”

“I’ve _never_ been a patient man, love,” Sandor interrupted, pulling up to his apartment building and putting his Jeep in park, “But what the hell?  There’s a first time for everything, right?”

Sansa smiled broadly, her voice dripping of promise, “Yes.  Yes, there is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, didn't Margaery tell Sansa that she'd have to cough up the details of her date?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tells Margaery all of the details about her date with Sandor...every detail except one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A funny, fluffy chapter that gives some insight into Sansa's long-term friendship with Margaery.

When Sansa returned to her apartment, Margaery was sitting on the couch, several textbooks strewn about on the floor and across the coffee table.  She was feverishly typing something into her laptop, so intent on her school work that Sansa hoped for a brief moment that just maybe her best friend would forget about her date today.  Although part of her wanted to shout out from the roof of their building that she had been intimate with Sandor, the other part of her wanted to die of sheer embarrassment at the thought of having to describe said intimacy.  Before Sansa could even drop her keys and purse on the table by the front door, however, Margaery tossed her computer onto the coffee table and leapt to her feet.

Obviously, she had not forgotten.

“Sansa Stark,” Margaery demanded, folding her arms in front of her chest, her mouth set firmly like a parent about to scold a child, “I want to hear all of the details.  Every.  Last.  One.”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Sansa lied as nonchalantly as possible, attempting to brush past her curious friend, “So, I’m just going to head back to my room to change so I can get to studying for my quiz tomorrow.”

“Nice try,” Margaery grinned as she grabbed a hold of Sansa’s upper arm, “But you are so not going anywhere until you tell me how your date with Sandor went!”  Margaery tugged her by the arm lightly, leading her to the couch.  “Sit,” she ordered, sitting down closely beside Sansa.  Leaning in to give her perplexed red-headed friend a quick sniff, Margaery’s eyes narrowed, her mouth curving into a mischievous smirk.  “You smell of sex, by the way,” she teased, a perfectly manicured blond eyebrow arched in question, “So don’t you _dare_ pretend that nothing happened!”

“I smell – what?” gulped Sansa, her eyes growing wide at Margaery’s analysis, her cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson.  As Margaery folded her arms once again across her chest in anticipation, Sansa immediately tried to explain, “OK, now wait a minute, we did _not_ go all the way,” she began defensively, “I mean, not that I didn’t want to, you know, because I do, it’s just that…”  Sansa’s attempt to backpedal died on her lips.  Judging by the highly-amused look on her significantly more experienced friend’s face, she knew that Margaery knew that something worthy of discussion had transpired.

“Cut the crap, Sansa,” Margaery grinned, “Out with it.”

Sansa took a deep breath, resigning herself to her fate.  “Well, we did fool around a little.”

“Define ‘a little,’ if you please.”

“I kissed him.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I kissed him _a lot.”_

“And?”

“And…I may have touched his…you know, his privates.”

“What?” Margaery shrieked in delight, “You didn’t!”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, I did.  I tried what you and I talked about this morning.”

Margaery’s eyes lit up with excitement, “Details!”

“It was so…surreal,” Sansa giggled, “I got so caught up in the kissing and the groping that I just –“

“Ah, ah, ah!”  Margaery interrupted, playfully wagging a finger at Sansa, “We will start from the beginning.”

After Sansa had confessed to every gory detail of her afternoon with Sandor, beginning with their dalliance in his gym during her self-defense session as well as how forward she had acted with him during the rest of their date, Margaery seemed terribly pleased with her inexperienced best friend’s exploration of her sexual side.

“I’m so excited for you!” Margaery beamed, reaching out to throw her arms around Sansa.  Pulling her into a tight embrace, Margaery squeezed her as hard as she could, “I really, really am!”  Sansa felt completely smothered, but thankfully, Margaery released her vice-like grip, opting instead to grab Sansa’s hand in her own.

“Still,” continued Margaery, narrowing her eyes once again as she scrutinized Sansa’s face, “I can’t believe that you gave the man a hand job.  A freaking _hand job._   On your first date.”  Shaking her head in disbelief, Margaery couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought that her virginal friend had moved so incredibly fast with Sandor.  “I must say, Miss Stark,” she continued, patting Sansa’s hand with her own, “I am thoroughly impressed.  You’ve always been a fabulous student, but really, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Sansa felt a tremendous sense of relief at having spilled her guts to her best friend and confidant.  “Yeah, I know.  He makes me feel like I’m capable of doing things that I never, ever thought that I could do, that’s for sure.”

“So,” Margaery asked with a playful smirk, “What does it feel like to finally enter into the world of sex?

“Good,” Sansa gushed, “Really, _really_ good.”

The two friends burst into a fit of the giggles.  Suddenly, Margaery’s face became completely serious.  “I hope that Sandor knows what’s good for him and that he treats you like you deserve to be treated,” she warned, “If he pushes you too fast, I will kick his ass, karate master or not.  And, if he hurts you in any way, I will personally see to it that he spends the rest of his life as a eunuch.

“Why do I believe you right now?” Sansa chuckled.

“So come on, tell me the truth,” Margaery asked, her tongue running along her bottom lip, “How big is he?”

“Margaery!” groaned Sansa, rolling her eyes at her friend’s inquiry.

Margaery continued to tease Sansa with a lecherous grin, “I mean, Sandor’s the tallest guy I’ve ever seen.  He’s absolutely huge.  He’s bound to have a cock the size of race horse.”

“Would you give it a rest?” laughed Sansa, taking a swat at Margaery, missing her arm by mere inches as her friend ducked the hit.

“OK, I’ll stop!”  Margaery laughed.  “Really, Sansa, I am completely happy for you.”  Her face turned slightly more serious as she continued, “Yet, I still can’t wrap my brain around the idea that Sandor Clegane has what it takes to turn you into this horny, wanton creature I barely recognize!  I mean, yes, the man is built like a tank, and that body is definitely worthy of a wild ride, but with all of his scars and his grumpy attitude, he just doesn’t fit the description of the chivalrous, handsome knight in shining armor you’ve been dreaming about for years, thanks to those ridiculous romance books of yours.  So why him, Sansa?  What made you after all of these years of living like a nun decide that he was the one?”

Sansa worried her bottom lip as she tried to put her emotions into words.  “When I first saw Sandor that night at the club,” she began, lowering her eyes to her lap, twisting the hem of her t-shirt with her fingers, thinking about how fabulous his body had felt against hers earlier, “I was attracted instantaneously.  He was so incredibly hot!  That shirt and those jeans...and he was so damn strong.”  Margaery watched as Sansa’s face lit up as she described her growing feelings for Sandor.

“And then after talking to him first at the club and then spending time with him today,” Sansa continued, lifting her eyes to meet Margaery’s gaze, “I feel like I’m really getting to know him.  He’s smart, sexy, funny, and handsome.”  She could see the unspoken question in Maragery’s eyes.

“And you know what, the scars don’t bother me at all.  Or the cussing, really,” Sansa chuckled as Margaery’s toothy grin appeared, “I guess I’m getting used to it.”

“All part of his charm, eh?” Margaery goaded lightheartedly.

Sansa giggled in return, “Yeah, you could say that.  Really, I think that Sandor is an amazing person.  I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Margaery gave Sansa’s leg a tender pat.  “You take it as slow or as fast with him as you want, girl.  I just want you to make absolutely certain that you don’t give it up to Sandor if you’re not ready.  You’ve never had a real boyfriend, so you just need to be careful that you don’t wind up having any regrets.”

Sansa smiled at Margaery’s words, “Never had a boyfriend?  How about your brother, Loras?” she grinned deviously, “You remember our night at the junior prom?”

“Ugh, of all the times for my idiot older brother to come out of the closest,” Margaery said, rolling her eyes with a smile as she remembered how shocked Sansa had been, “Yeah, you and Loras made the perfect couple; a princess dating a queen.  Perfect indeed.”

They both broke into a fit of laughter as they remembered how Loras, who only had taken Sansa on two dates before asking her to the prom, had decided to publicly announce that he was gay to an entire room of family and friends during the after party that was being held at the Tyrell’s house.  Sansa was completely devastated, certain that Loras had turned gay because of something she did or did not do.  Margaery assured her that pretty much everyone in the entire city of Westeros had known that Loras was gay, that is, everyone except for Sansa.

As Margaery and Sansa dried their tears of laughter, they fell into a comfortable silence.  Finally, Margaery stood, positioning herself directly in front of Sansa, placing her hands on her hips, “So tell me, oh virgin princess, when exactly are you two little lovebirds going to go out again?”

“I’m going to meet him Friday around 10 at King’s Landing.  Sandor said that Tyrion owes him a favor after he protected Shae last week from some loser who was grabbing at her.  You remember her, right?  She was that attractive brunette server at the club who waited on us?”  Margaery nodded in agreement.  “Anyway, Sandor told me that Shae is Tyrion’s girlfriend.  So, Sandor is going to tell Tyrion that he needs the rest of the night off Friday.  And we’re going to go out after his shift is done.”

“Well, well, Sansa,” Margaery cooed, reaching down to pull Sansa into a standing position beside her, “As your self-appointed best friend and mentor in the fine art of sex, I hereby take full responsibility for getting you prepared for your date.  I’m taking you to the pharmacy and showing you how to pick up a 3-pack.”

“A 3-pack?” Sansa said, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “A 3-pack of what?  Beer?”

Margaery threw her head back in a fit of laughter, “No, Sansa,” she tried to say in between breaths, “Condoms.”

Sansa’s copper eyebrows about flew right off her head at Margaery’s words.  “Seriously?” she cried in mortification, “You want me to go shopping for condoms?  Right now?  With you?”

“Hey, I was a Girl Scout, remember?” Margaery grinned, “You need to be prepared.”

“But –“

“I didn’t say that you had to hump him right away.  You just need to be ready in case you can’t stand yourself and you want to tear his clothes off the next time you’re alone with him.”

 _She does have a point,_ Sansa mused.

“And, by the way,” Margaery continued, “Bronn will be taking me back to his place Friday night, so you and Mr. Clegane will have the apartment here all to yourself.”  As Margaery began leading Sansa by the hand toward the front door, she suggestively wagged her eyebrows, “Just don’t do anything with Sandor that I wouldn’t do.”

“Well, that should be easy to accomplish if that is the standard,” Sansa said with a fair amount of snark.

“Nice burn,” Margaery teased in return, handing Sansa her purse and pushing her out the front door, “Now get your cute little ass in the car.  We’re going to the pharmacy for lesson number two!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margaery is a force to be reckoned with for sure. Let's hope that Sandor behaves himself! Well, maybe, let's hope that he _sort of_ behaves, right?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets up with Sandor at King's Landing, and they head out for their second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor really is trying to behave himself like a gentleman, but Sansa is making it very hard.

As Sandor stood guard at his assigned post this evening by the rear exit of King’s Landing, he could not contain the smirk that dared to show itself yet again on his normally stoic, unamused face while he was on duty.  No matter how many times he internally admonished himself to keep his shite together, each time his thoughts drifted to Sansa, that bloody shite-eating grin was once again plastered on his face like some teenage boy who had just copped a feel for the first time.  _For fuck’s sake,_ Sandor thought to himself as he attempted to return to his former menacing state, _pull it together before someone notices._

Unfortunately for Sandor, the entire staff as well as the management at King’s Landing had already noticed his border-line pleasant demeanor all week.  At first, he merely started barking less at his coworkers when they got in his way.  Then, he began to actually smile at people for no apparent reason, which caused a tremendous amount of tittering among the staff behind his back.  Before he knew it, he was willingly joining in with his coworkers’ attempts at levity.

In fact, right before the club had opened for the night, Tormund was in the middle of telling Bronn and Drogo a dirty joke when he approached the men.  When he proceeded to whack Tormund on the back, laughing loudly, telling his coworker how funny the joke was, Tormund looked like he had just seen a ghost, while Drogo asked with complete seriousness if Sandor was feeling alright.

Since his display earlier, everyone on staff, except for Bronn, was giving Sandor a wide berth tonight because his lack of ferocity and intensity unnerved them.  They were used to the gruff, silent, irritated Sandor.  This new friendly, talkative, smiling Sandor had everyone wondering if he was cracking up.

Although he was not privy to the specific details about what had happened during Sandor’s date, Bronn was quite smart enough to deduce that from the way his giant of a friend was walking around the nightclub whistling while he worked and was going much easier on him when sparring this week that something extremely pleasurable had occurred between Sandor and Sansa.  It also helped that Margaery had texted him late Monday evening to let him know that if Sandor fucked this up with Sansa, she would kill him.

On the Tuesday after his encounter with Sansa, Sandor had approached Tyrion in his office before his shift at the club started.  He requested some time off on Friday night to take a lady on a date.  When Tyrion readily agreed to allowing Sandor to leave work early for such an occasion, his stupefied expression at such a request did manage to make Sandor growl.

Throughout the week, Sandor and Sansa had exchanged daily text messages or phone calls, varying from a quick hello between her classes and his work schedule to lengthier chats in the evenings about everything from Sansa’s favorite romance novelist, Lommy Greenhands (“ _What the fuck’s a Lommy?” he had replied)_ to his dream of one day breaking away from his indentured servitude to the Lannister clan and opening up his own MMA school.  She told him about what had happened with Joffrey, and he vowed that he would murder the little fuck if he ever laid eyes on him.  They talked about her family and his lack of it; she cried when he told her about his sister; and he laughed his ass off when she told him how she and Margaery first met.

Sansa’s face and voice haunted him.  She was the most alluring female that he had ever seen.  Thinking about the taste of her lips or the feel of her hands around his member caused him to rub one out daily while in the shower.  He had not felt this randy since he was a backward teen who knew nothing about a woman’s body.  Although his physical attraction to her was intense, Sandor desired her not just for carnal pleasures.  She was incredibly smart, had a terrific sense of humor, cared about others, and damn him if she didn’t make him feel good about himself for once in his miserable, lonely life.

As soon as Sansa had pulled out of his parking lot on her way back to her apartment after their lunch date on Monday, Sandor had resolved to slow down things between them.  _Don’t push the girl, Clegane,_ he warned himself, _She’s a virgin, for fuck’s sake._ Sansa deserved to be treated with respect, and he would chew off his own damn arm before he coerced her into doing anything that she didn’t truly want to do.  His job, as he saw it, was to let her lead, letting her take from him whatever pleasure she felt like she was ready to handle.

Sandor looked down at his watch.  10:08.  Quickly surveying the scene, a moment of panic set in.  _What if she’s changed her mind?_ he thought, _What if she doesn’t show up tonight?_ As if on cue, he finally caught sight of Sansa as she and her friend, Margaery, were being led into King’s Landing by Bronn.

While walking toward her, making his way through the enormous crowd, Sandor watched intently as her eyes hurriedly scanned the club, obviously looking for him.  She was standing near the bar area with Bronn and Margaery, but thankfully, she had not come tonight with her runt of a sister and her amazon of a friend.

Wearing a low-cut, long-sleeve black dress that hugged all of her curves perfectly and barely covered her ass, Sansa looked absolutely stunning.  Her long, flaming-red hair was left down tonight, her curls now smooth and sleek, only a few strands of hair pulled back into a small, low pony-tail at the base of her neck.  _Fuck me,_ Sandor groaned inwardly, _she’s the most beautiful woman alive._ When she finally spotted Sandor coming toward her through the throng of people milling around the bar area, he felt his heart swell when Sansa’s smile broadened widely.

“Hello, Sansa,” Sandor spoke as he reached for her hand, “You look amazing tonight.”

“Hey, Sandor,” Sansa replied while holding out her hand for him to grasp.  “Thank you.”  He leaned down to place a gentle, chaste kiss on her lovely pink lips.  When he stood, returning to his full height, she very publicly sized him up, a slight grin on her pretty face, “You look good enough to eat.”

That particular Freudian slip had Sandor’s eyebrow raise in question as they both heard Bronn clearing his throat.

“Say, mate, it’s time you and your lovely lady here get a move on,” Bronn chuckled darkly.  He had his arm thrown around Margaery’s shoulders as she leaned into his embrace, her hand resting on his stomach.  “And, for the record, I’ll be having me a sleep over tonight, so don’t rush home on my account.”

Sansa’s cheeks blushed at Bronn’s highly overt declaration that he and Margaery would be having sex tonight.  She looked up demurely at Sandor, who was completely ignoring Bronn and was staring intently at her.  “Well, Sandor, are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ve ever bloody well been in my life,” Sandor declared, pulling her by her hand, unceremoniously whisking her away toward the rear exit of the club.  Sansa’s laugh brought a smile to his face as they walked out of the club toward his Jeep.  “I left the top on tonight so you wouldn’t get cold, even if it means I have to duck the entire time I’m driving,” he said, assisting her into the vehicle, watching her every move as she tried to navigate the climb while wearing that damn scrap of fabric masquerading as a dress.

“You’re very sweet to think of me,” she smiled as he jumped into his seat, yanking his seat belt across his lap.  They began to pull out of the parking lot.

“I think about you in many ways that aren’t sweet, girl,” he grinned, shifting gears and glancing toward Sansa’s extremely long, pale legs.  “That dress of yours has me in knots, by the way.”

Sansa giggled, slapping his gear-shifting arm playfully, “Well, why do you think I wore it in the first place?” 

“Is that so?” Sandor replied with an enormous smirk as they came to a stop at a red light, “You intend to torture me for sport?”  He turned slightly to look at her.

“Absolutely,” Sansa whispered, leaning closer to him, her left hand scooting under his shifting arm, finding its way to his leg, sliding across his thigh until it rested dangerously close to his manhood.

He could feel his resolve to behave himself tonight rapidly fizzling as she stroked the inside of his thigh with her long, pink nails.  Looking down at his lap, watching her delicate, smooth hand as it slowly rubbed his inner thigh, he feared that he was about to lose his will power and turn his Jeep around to head for his apartment.

Playful banter was one thing.  Outright groping was another.

“You keep touching me like that, little bird, and we’re not making it to the restaurant,” Sandor warned, hoping that the look of raw lust that was certainly covering his face would make her reign in that hand of hers.  Instead, she continued to lower it further and further, her knuckles now brushing up against his stiffening cock.

“Whatever you say,” Sansa wistfully replied, leisurely dragging her hand away, “I’ll guess I’ll just keep my hands to myself all night then.”

Before she could completely retract her hand, Sandor grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him.  Sansa let out a small yelp of surprise as he planted a hard kiss on her mouth, opening up to run his tongue along her lips.  Moaning loudly at the sensation, she opened up, allowing his tongue to enter.  As their kiss deepened, Sandor moved her naughty little hand, resting it directly on his growing erection.  Catching on quickly, Sansa started to stroke and squeeze him through his dress slacks when they began to hear a horn honking directly behind them.  Slowly breaking apart, a car zoomed past them, the driver shouting curses at them as it sped through the green light.

“Keep your hands to yourself, you say?” Sandor said breathlessly, letting go of her hand and slamming the Jeep into gear, “We’ll see about that, I can assure you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone get my bad joke in the beginning notes?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor takes Sansa to her favorite restaurant, and after dinner is over, she invites him inside for a nightcap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long will it be before Sandor's resolve to hold back snaps? And just how far is Sansa ready to go?

Highgarden, one of Westeros’s finest, upscale restaurants currently managed by Margaery’s oldest brother, Willas, was a beautiful, elegant establishment that catered to individuals who wanted to feel like they were dining in luxury.  Its lush outside gardens were maintained year-round, offering its patrons a lovely view while enjoying a taste of exotic, high-end cuisine.

Although Margaery’s oldest brother ran the place, her grandmother, Olenna, still made her presence known, often mingling with the guests and giving her opinion freely to anyone seeking advice.  After retiring from the field of psychology, Margaery’s grandmother decided to venture into a completely different arena, buying the abandoned, dilapidated building and turning it into a highly successful eatery in less than a year.  Having been widowed as a young woman, Olenna Tyrell never remarried, instead travelling the world, learning multiple languages for fun, and raising her three grandchildren after her son and daughter-in-law died.  She was unconventional, brilliant, outspoken, and a force to be reckoned with, not unlike her granddaughter, Margaery.

To surprise Sansa, Sandor had actually gotten Margaery’s phone number from Bronn, calling her to ask where Sansa would like to go to dinner.  Not one to be easily impressed, Margaery was just that, praising him for his drive to please her best friend.  She suggested that he take her to her family’s restaurant since it was one of Sansa’s favorites.  Margaery also told him not to worry about trying to get a reservation because she would personally see to it that they had the best table in the house.

Throughout their dinner and desert at Highgarden, Sansa could not stop smiling or stop thinking about how much she would like to see Sandor out of those damned black dress clothes that he was wearing.  His monochromatic attire had made her as giddy as a girl about to open a present on Christmas morning.  He had opted not to wear a tie, instead leaving the top two buttons of his silky black dress shirt open at the neck, revealing a peek at that dark chest hair that she so desperately wanted to feel again.  Whatever cologne he had worn tonight was driving her completely crazy, and the way his long, black hair fell across his face only increased Sansa’s rather unladylike ideas about what she hoped that she would have the nerve to do to him once he took her home.  Aside from the distractions posed by her rather active imagination, Sansa had a fantastic time with Sandor.

And when Olenna herself had showed up at their table toward the end of their meal, lasciviously eyeballing Sandor to the point of making him fidget in his seat, the look of utter shock on his face when Olenna patted Sansa on the shoulder, wondering aloud if he was as big all over as he was tall, was worth any embarrassment Sansa herself actually felt at that moment.

It was a little before midnight when they pulled into her apartment complex, and Sansa was reluctant for the night to end.  Knowing full well what Sandor may expect of her if she invited him to come inside her apartment at such a terribly late hour, she was nervous and excited beyond belief.  Even though he was a bit rough around the edges, she knew that Sandor would behave like a gentleman and would respect whatever boundary she put forth.

The problem was, Sansa wasn’t really in the mood for much of a boundary at all, and as Sandor pulled his Jeep into a parking space in front of her building, she caught herself hoping that she might get to sample a little of his roughness in the form of that beard in some very interesting places on her body.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Sansa,” he began, a huge grin spreading across his face, “Even when I was terrified that your little granny friend was about to hike up her skirt and give me a lap dance.”  He reached out to hold her hand as she burst out laughing at the image he had just planted in her head.

“Me too,” Sansa replied, chuckling so hard that her cheeks began to hurt, “Who knew that a harmless old woman could make such a tough guy like you tremble?”  As she stared down at their joined hands, her laughter dying off into giggles, she raised her eyes to meet his.

“Harmless?” Sandor cried out in mock fear, “I have no doubt that if you weren’t there to save me, she would have clubbed me over the head, drug me to her lair, and had her way with me for certain.”

“Actually, I think you may be right,” Sansa replied with an enormous grin.  As she studied his features, she hoped that he was thinking about asking her out again.

“I’d love to go out with you again,” he said, pulling her hand to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, “If you’ll have me, that is.”  _Buddy, you have no idea how much I want to have you right now_ , Sansa thought.

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” she replied, her breath starting to come faster now as he continued staring at her, clearly waiting for her to make the next move.  _Game on._ “Sandor, I know it’s late,” Sansa asked shyly, tilting her head ever-so-slightly while still looking directly at him, “But would you like to come inside for a while?”

“Are you sure?” he asked as a slightly puzzled look consumed his face, “Your girlfriend is busy at my place putting Bronn’s eyeballs into the same socket.  We’d be all alone.”

“Um, yeah…that’s the point, right?” Sansa teased, the mere whisper of a smile on her face. 

“By all means, then.  Lead the way,” Sandor rasped.  He brought Sansa’s hand to his mouth again, placing a second kiss on her skin, this time letting his mouth linger just a little extra.  Sansa unconsciously licked her own lips, an act that did not go unnoticed by him.

As Sansa unlocked her front door and entered her apartment, she steeled her nerves as Sandor followed her inside.  _Keep it together,_ she reminded herself, _You’re a grown woman.  You’re simply doing what any grown woman would do.  Right._

“Can I get you a drink?” Sansa offered, tossing her purse and keys on the table by the door, kicking off her heels by the bar that separated her kitchen and living room, “Margaery has quite a stock pile of expensive liquor and wine that she swipes from her grandmother’s house when she goes over to visit.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sandor replied with a laugh, “Sure, whatever you have, I’ll have the same.”  Sandor was standing in Sansa’s living room while she flitted about in the kitchen looking for glasses and pouring some wine.  The décor was definitely girly.  The light, airy feeling of the room, which was decorated with white fabrics and bright, vivid accent colors, made Sandor smile.  _It looks a teenage girl lives here,_ he mused to himself.  He walked around her living room and examined all of the photographs on display.  Some were of Margaery and her family, and some were of both Sansa and Margaery.

Stopping in front of a small table by the hallway, he noticed a photograph of Sansa, a huge smile on her face as she stood with her arms around the necks of two extraordinarily handsome, dark haired young men about her age at a hockey game.  Beside that photo was another of Sansa, this time sitting on patio furniture during what appeared to be a pool party with two very young looking boys and her personality-challenged sister, Arya.  Also on the table sat a photo with a smiling older couple at a restaurant that looked to be Highgarden, a sandy-haired, classically handsome, middle-aged man sitting beside an older but definitely beautiful woman with flaming red hair like Sansa’s.  The final photo appeared to be at a birthday party for the older man in the previous photo, and Sansa as well as the other young people in the previous three photos were all huddled around him.  _They all look so happy,_ Sandor thought to himself.  “Are these all your brothers you’ve talked so much about?” he asked as he lifted one of the photos off the end table, “And your mum and dad?”  _The lot of them look like models, for fuck’s sake,_ Sandor sniffed.

“Yes, that’s us last year at my dad’s birthday party,” Sansa replied from the kitchen, “My mom throws this huge blow-out every year for my dad.  It’s an annual tradition.”  She entered the living room with two glasses of Dornish red in hand, giving one to Sandor, “Actually, next weekend is his birthday.  I’ll be spending the night there next Saturday and coming back Sunday.”

“It must be nice to have family like that,” Sandor smiled softly.  Taking a large gulp of wine to ease his nerves, he returned the photo to its original location, moving to sit down on her couch.  When he mumbled some sort of curse to himself under his breath while nudging her coffee table forward to give his extremely long legs room, Sansa decided to let any comments about his size go for now.

“Yeah, they’re great.  Even Arya, too, once you get to know her,” Sansa replied with a laugh as she sat beside Sandor, tucking her legs beneath her, sipping her wine slowly, “I’m guess I’m really lucky to have them.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Sandor downed the rest of his wine, placing the empty glass on her coffee table, “Well, I think they’re the ones who are lucky to have you,” he stated, sitting back and looking directly at her.  Sansa smiled broadly at him while leaning over to put her own glass down on the table.

“So…” Sansa started slowly but was interrupted by Sandor.

“Sansa,” he blurted out with a distinct hint of hesitation, “I want you to know up front that I have no expectations about tonight.”  Sandor saw her eyes widen then soften, “I think it’s fairly obvious by now that I’m highly attracted to you, and I’d love nothing more than to ravish you properly.  But I don’t intend to rush you, little bird.”

“Little bird…” Sansa grinned as she edged her body closer to Sandor, “I like your pet name for me, don’t get me wrong, but why do you call me that?”  By now, Sansa’s thigh was flush with Sandor’s leg.  She reached down and gingerly placed her hand on his upper thigh, leaning into her touch. 

“Because…” Sandor’s voice lowered to almost a whisper, his eyes casting downward toward her hand that was slowly rubbing his leg.  He was internally at war with himself, desperate to maintain his composure and to find the right words to tell Sansa how much he adored her before he pounced on her like a dog who had cornered its prey, “I’m not good with words, lass.  I’m not one of those knights in your fairy tales who sing pretty songs of love to his lady.”  He watched how her face fell slightly as she began to withdraw her hand.  Reaching down quickly, Sandor grabbed her wrist gently, holding her hand in place.

“Sansa, look at me,” he spoke softly.  Sansa raised her eyes to his as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.  Deciding to let his guard down the farthest he had ever done with anyone in his life, Sandor took a deep breath and exhaled before he continued, “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he began as he reached out to stroke her long, fiery mane, allowing what he felt for her to pour out of him freely, “And for some reason I can’t for the life of me figure out, you’ve chosen to be with me.  Yet soon enough, I know I’ll do something to fuck up whatever this thing is between us.  I’m not a kind man, Sansa.  Downright hateful most of the time.  And the closer you get, the worse the fear gets.  No point in trying to hide it now.” Sandor looked away, losing himself momentarily in the painful memories of his past, “And when you do fly away from me, because no one like you will want to stay for long, I’ll be devastated.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sansa pleaded, reaching out, lovingly touching the scars on Sandor’s face, gently tracing the raised ridges and lines that marred his right side.  His gray eyes met hers, and she could see all the years of rejection he must have felt reflected in his eyes.  “I’m right here.  And you won’t run me off that easily, Sandor Clegane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drum roll, please...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa experiences her first orgasm with a man present, thanks to Sandor's skillful hands. Sandor is surprised when Sansa demands to return the favor while using her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been warned...

With Sansa’s overt show of affection, Sandor’s self-control snapped.

He reached out for her, quickly wrapping his arms around her petite waist and pulling her onto his huge lap.  She responded by clutching his head and capturing his mouth in hers, desperate to show him how much she truly desired him. 

As their tongues passionately explored each other’s mouths, Sansa reached for the buttons of his dress shirt and began unbuttoning it rapidly.  Finished with her task, she broke their passionate kiss, quickly pushing Sandor’s shirt off his shoulders to finally see what prize lay beneath.  His chest and stomach were covered in a thick coating of dark hair; his sculpted muscles felt firm to her touch, hardened from years of martial arts.  Drinking in the sight, Sansa lightly ran her hands all over him, punctuating her exploration by tracing the line of dark hair that led to the place hidden inside his slacks that she so badly wanted to see.

Feeling his cock responding to her attentions, Sandor captured her lips with his own as his hands jumped from her waist up to her breasts.  When Sansa did not protest, he cupped them in his massive hands, testing the weight of them through her dress.  While they continued to kiss, he gently squeezed her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her hardened nipples through the layers of fabric.

“Oh…oh, God,” Sansa whimpered as she became lost in the newly-found sensation.  She let her head drop backward slightly, which allowed Sandor to lean down, placing several small kisses from her chin all the way down to the edge of her neckline.  Sansa could feel his hardened manhood pushing up against her core.  She moaned at the sensation, instinctively rocking her hips back and forth against him.

“Fucking hell,” Sandor groaned at her boldness, his hands now grabbing her petite waist, squeezing firmly on her hips to make her stop moving, “Keep that up, girl, and I may not be able to stop myself.”

“Who said anything about wanting you to stop?” Sansa murmured breathlessly, placing her hands on top of his.  Dragging them with her, encouraging him to return his attention to her chest, she looked him directly in the eyes as she placed his hands back on her breasts, now guiding his hands to pull down the neckline of her dress as well as the cups of her lacey pink bra.  His eyes widened comically as he took in the sight of her bare skin.  _Holy shit,_ Sansa thought proudly,  _you’re doing this; you’re really doing this!_

Sandor’s eyes darted back up to see that her pupils were blown wide and her mouth was parted; her breaths were coming short and quick now.  _Fuck me sideways,_ he thought lustfully, _she looks just like she did when I first saw her at King’s Landing._

“Oh, you don’t know what you’ve gone and started now,” he promised with a terribly sinful grin.  Sandor released his hands from hers, and while taking hold of her right breast, he lowered his mouth and began to suck and nibble at the creamy, freckled flesh.  He quickly moved his attention to her left breast, making sure that he sucked her pink nipple into his mouth before swirling his tongue around it.

“Sandor, please,” Sansa begged, “That feels…so good!”  Her heart was pounding inside her chest.  She was starting to pant, and she was quite certain that her eyes might roll right into the back of her head when Sandor’s hands left her breasts and found their way to her thighs.  Slowly sliding his hands higher, he ran both under her extremely short dress that had ridden up virtually to her waist.  Sansa’s eyes flew open in shock when she felt his thumbs pressing against her core through her panties.

“Relax.  I won’t hurt you, little bird,” Sandor promised, pulling aside the fabric of her panties with one thumb, slowly parting and stroking her wet folds with the other one.  Finding her sensitive and swollen nub, he began to rub her clit in small, soft circles.  “Fuck, you’re dripping, lass,” he growled.

“I, oh, God…I…” Sansa tried to speak.  She could not find any coherent words to shove out of her mouth as Sandor continued his ministrations.  As his attention to her clit increased in speed, he once again started kissing and gently biting at her neck and breasts.  All Sansa could do was hold onto him, her eyes shut and hands grasped tightly in his hair.

Never once in all of the times that Sansa had pleasured herself in the secluded darkness of her bedroom had this felt, well, like _this._

When Sandor removed his thumb, adjusting his hand to now use his finger, slipping it slowly inside her tight cunny, Sansa gasped.  His wicked laugh vibrating against her neck only increased the intensity of the feelings coursing through her as he began to withdraw and insert his finger in a deliciously continuous slow rhythm.

“Faster, please…it feels…so incredible,” Sansa moaned loudly.

“Such a wanton thing,” Sandor murmured, inserting a second finger, pumping in and out of her cunny faster and faster, curling his fingers, trying to find that sweet spot hidden inside of her, “I love watching you come undone.”

As Sandor fucked her with his fingers, Sansa began to lose herself to the sensations that his hands and mouth were eliciting from her body.  She shamelessly moaned, rocking her hips into his hand in time with his thrusts.  “Please, Sandor…I think…I’m gonna come!”

“Sing your song for me, little bird,” Sandor demanded, raising his head from kissing and sucking at her neck and breasts, “Look me in the eyes.  I want to watch you when you come.”

Sansa opened her eyes as he commanded, and once she saw his lustful stare, she slipped over the edge.  With her mouth hanging open and her eyes blown wide, Sansa felt her core pulsing around his fingers.  As she rode out her orgasm, her head dropped down, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.

“You alright?” Sandor whispered in her ear.  He withdrew his fingers slowly, causing her to shiver.

“Yeah…I think so,” Sansa whispered back with a giggle.

“Your first orgasm with a man was good?” he asked with a devilish grin.  She raised her head just in time to see him lift his two fingers, shiny from the coating of her arousal, and put them into his mouth.  “You taste so sweet,” Sandor said with a wink after he pulled them out of his mouth with a pop.  Sansa was stunned yet pleased at the sight.  _Sweet baby Jesus!_ she mused, _He’s such a sexy, hairy beast!_

“Oh, God.  That was so fucking amazing,” Sansa groaned, “Way better than anything I ever feel doing that by myself.” 

“You’re quite saucy when you’re aroused, did you know that?” Sandor said with a laugh.  Her sudden use of foul language and her admission that she had pleasured herself in the past had caught him off guard.  He felt as if he might burst with pride that Sansa had allowed him to be the first one to bring her to climax.  _Now if I can just figure out how to tell her that I need to take care of myself…_ Sandor pondered.

“Saucy?” Sansa smiled with a shameless grin, “You think I’m saucy, do you?  Oh, I’ll show you saucy!”  She proceeded to yank her bra and dress back into place, to hurriedly climb off Sandor’s lap and bulging cock, and to lower herself to her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?”  Sandor warned more than asked, knowing full well where this was headed, “Sansa, love, you don’t have to –“

“Shut up and let me try this,” she ordered, firmly slapping his thigh.  Sandor’s mouth slammed shut in surprise as she cupped him through his dress pants.  “Off.  These come off.  _Now._ ”

Highly aroused at her most unexpected show of authority, Sandor obediently unzipped his slacks, raised his hips, and lowered his boxers and pants to his knees in one swift motion.  His aching cock, now free from its bindings, stood proudly at attention, virtually in Sansa’s face.  “Are you sure, love?” Sandor muttered.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she purred, staring eye to eye with his member.  _God, he’s huge!_ Sansa thought smugly.

Having lived with four exhibitionist brothers, Sansa had seen a man’s penis plenty of times before now.  She had accidentally caught a glimpse of her brothers’ private parts frequently over the years while living at home, mostly because none of them seemed to care about privacy.  Robb was the worst offender, being quite uninhibited with his body.  Often their mother, Catelyn, had to sass Robb to quit flashing his sisters since he rarely remembered to close his door when changing his clothes or coming out of the shower.  Jon, Bran, and Rickon weren’t much better, either.  In fact, just two weeks ago, Sansa caught sight of Jon’s manhood in all of its glory when he had spent the night on the couch at her apartment after a late-night gig.  When she had accidentally walked in on him while he was changing in the living room, too damn lazy to do that in the bathroom, Jon had the nerve to laugh at her when she had screamed.

Those were her brothers’ privates, however.  And Sandor definitely was _not_ her brother.

She boldly grasped his cock in her right hand and while slowly pumping him, Sansa lowered her mouth, dragging her tongue up from the base, along the thick vein on the underside, and then across the wet tip.  “ _Don’t try to get it all into your mouth at once,”_ Sansa coached herself, trying to remember Margaery’s instructions, “ _Treat it like a lollipop.  A big, pink lollipop.  Lick and suck.”_ She swirled her tongue around the head, ghosting around the rim, hoping she was doing this right.  “ _They love any attention you pay it.  Just go for it!  You can do it!”_

“Fucking, fuck, Sansa,” Sandor moaned, his eyes screwing shut and his head falling backwards onto the back of the couch, “Your mouth…please, love, I need your mouth on me.”  When Sandor felt her soft, wet mouth first kiss than envelop the head of his cock, he feared that he was going to come on the spot.

He desperately started trying to think of anything that would help distract him from the magnificent sensations her mouth was causing throughout his body.  He started cycling through various images, settling on the sight of Bronn walking around their apartment naked as he was apt to do when fresh out of the shower.

That didn’t work.

So, he moved on to the nightmare that he had experienced at the nightclub last weekend.  After hearing Jaime shouting and crying out in pain, Sandor had rushed upstairs, bursting into his boss’s office unannounced, expecting to see Jaime lying on the floor with his hand cut off or something else equally as horrible.  The sight of Jaime’s naked ass, fully on display while pounding into a half-naked Brienne, spread out doggy-style over Jaime’s desk, almost made Sandor throw up right then and there.

Nope.  That wasn’t working either.

Feeling like he might go mad, Sandor realized quickly that he was about to fail in his attempt to control his building need to release into Sansa’s pretty mouth as she pumped and sucked his cock with all of the experimentation and vigor like the virgin she was.  When he lifted his head to look down at her, he saw Sansa with her eyes wide open, looking straight at him.  She hummed around him, still pumping his member rapidly, and with her other hand, she started to massage his balls.

Not wanting to disgust her, Sandor begged her to stop so he could release in his own hands, “Sansa, listen to me…you need… you need to let go...I’m going to…I don’t want to…in your…fuck, please listen, love.”

Still holding his cock in her mouth and hand, Sansa simply nodded her head ‘No’ and shot him a wink.

And at witnessing that display, Sandor’s eyes slammed shut as he came with a shout and a shudder, his cock pulsing his seed into Sansa’s mouth and down her throat.  When he was finally able to open his eyes, he found her still trying to swallow his release with as dignified an air as she could muster.  She then proceeded to wipe the last vestiges of his cum from her swollen lips with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, Sansa, you’re incredible,” Sandor groaned, now studying the debauched sight kneeling in front of him.  With her wild hair, her reddened neck and chest, and her little black dress that was all twisted and turned at a funny angle, Sansa looked like a woman far more experienced that she actually was.  “How in the seven hells are you still a virgin?  Where the _fuck_ did you learn to do that?”

“I’m a fast learner,” Sansa beamed proudly, not wanting to divulge the main source of her rapidly growing knowledge at the moment, “and we had cable when I was a kid.  That helped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a cigarette. And I don't smoke...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa relives the glory of her night of experimentation with Sandor. Sandor tries to show Sansa his domestic side. And, of course, they get busted having a sleep over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get a little "awkward..."

_“Fuck, that feels so good!” Sansa moaned, grasping desperately at Sandor’s hair.  She was flat on her back, lying completely naked on her bed, sprawled out with her legs wide open, while Sandor lapped and sucked at her womanhood.  He was kneeling on the floor at the foot of her bed, holding her firmly to his face by her ass with one of his hands, and with the other hand, he was pumping two of his fingers in and out of her cunny sinfully slow._

_“I could feast on you all night, little bird,” Sandor paused before taking her clit into his mouth again with a firm suck._

_“Sandor, please!” Sansa begged, hoping that he would stop torturing her and just go ahead and let her come again.  He had already brought her to completion with his mouth just moments ago, but he was determined to wring as much pleasure out of her as he could. “Finish me!”_

_“Not yet, little bird,” Sandor murmured in between licks and kisses to her sopping folds, “Not till you sing your song for me one more time.”  Suddenly, he rose from his position on the floor, grabbing Sansa by the waist and flipping her over roughly onto her stomach.  Sansa yelped as she was spun in the air like a doll being tossed by a child, and when she landed, she started to push herself up on the bed.  Before she could rise very far, Sandor grabbed her by the waist again, lifting her up onto all fours, pushing her down by her back so that only her ass was sticking up in the air.  As quickly as he had positioned her, he bent over her, lowering his mouth once again to tease and to taste her throbbing core._

_“Jesus, Sandor, fuck!” Sansa cried out, frantically grasping at the floral sheets on her bed, burying her face in the thick pink and purple striped comforter.  The change of position, paired with the sensation of his beard scraping her inner thighs while he fucked her with his tongue, sent Sansa tumbling over the edge._

_When she began to come down from her glorious high, the sheer exhaustion Sansa felt overtook her, causing her to completely collapse onto her bed.  She could hear Sandor chuckling as he moved behind her and rose off the bed.  Rolling over slowly, Sansa saw him standing at his full, impressive height, looking down at her like she was his prey.  Their eyes locked as he wiped his beard, covered in her juices, with the back of one of his hands while the other hand lazily stroked his erect shaft.  God, he is magnificent, Sansa thought to herself as she drank in the sight of his naked, muscular body._  

Without warning, Sansa was rudely roused from her intensely erotic dream by the sound of something metallic clanging onto her kitchen floor as well as the sound of Sandor’s voice cursing loudly at the object that had just crashed.

Her eyes opened gradually, the haze of too little sleep and too much wine still fogging her brain.  Groaning as she squinted from the bright sunlight spilling into her bedroom through the open curtains, she slowly rolled over to the opposite side of her full-size bed to take a glance at her alarm clock.  9:23 AM.

As her senses came to life, she was caught off-guard by the scent of Sandor’s cologne on her pillow and the sweet smell of something cooking in the kitchen.  Now feeling the dull ache in the muscles of her abdomen and thighs, Sansa suddenly remembered that the dream she just had was in fact a reality. 

After engaging in several rounds of highly acrobatic and extremely satisfying oral sex last night with Sandor, she had asked him to stay with her.

Sansa immediately sat straight-up in her bed, the floral sheets falling down, revealing her naked breasts and stomach.  Kicking off the bedding, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.  Gingerly, she spread her legs, witnessing the signs of beard burn on her inner thighs.

“Holy shit!” Sansa whispered as her hand flew to cover her mouth, the memories of her sexual experimentation with Sandor beginning to flood her.  Springing from her bed to root around her room for some moderately clean clothes, she caught sight of her nakedness in the mirror.

That vision stopped her in her tracks.

Trailing down her long, pale neck to the tops of her freckled breasts were small red marks, apparently left behind from Sandor’s teeth.  Turning around to look at her rear end, she noticed a slight mark where his hands had held her ass during one of their rounds of oral sex.  _Oh, God,_ Sansa mused with an embarrassed yet satisfied smirk, _I’ll never hear the end of this when Margaery finds out he marked me!_

Grinning from ear-to-ear at her decision not to bother with a bra, she threw on a baby-blue ringer tee that she found on the chair by her closet and a pair of black leggings laying in a pile on the floor under the same chair.  Displeased with the wild mess of hair sticking up all over her head, Sansa began brushing her wild bed-head, the hour spent making it sleek for her date with Sandor last night lost in the throes of passion.  Now left with a jumble of waves and frizz, she wondered if this was how everyone looked in the morning after a night of…that.

Unsuccessful in her attempt to pull her mess of hair into a low ponytail, Sansa finally gave up, letting the fiasco hang freely.  As she was about to exit her bedroom and head down the hallway, she heard Sandor’s voice, cursing something once again.  Giggling to herself as she opened the door, Sansa took a deep breath, steadying herself to face the man with whom she had become _very_ personal with very fast.  Padding down the hallway and through the living room, she was struck speechless at the sight standing before her in her kitchen.

Sandor Clegane, martial artist, tough guy, and general all-around badass, was making pancakes.  _Pancakes_.

Wearing the same black dress clothes from last night, he had left his shirt unbuttoned, leaving his chest deliciously exposed.  Her kitchen counters were covered in flour, egg shells, and various other baking items.  On the floor lay an empty metal baking sheet and spatula that her mother had given to her when she had moved out but which she rarely used.  Sandor, who was still muttering a string of curses under his breath, was hunched over the oven, another item in her kitchen that was also rarely used.

“So, good morning?” Sansa chirped softly while she leaned against the door frame.  Sandor stood abruptly, turning to face her, obviously startled by her presence.

“Sansa!  Hey!  Yeah, good morning,” he said with an embarrassed grin.  He pulled his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth, an adorable nervous tick of his that she had noticed during the first conversation that they had at King’s Landing a week ago.  She could see that he was trying to hide an oven mitt behind his back.  “I was, uh, making breakfast.  Badly, at that.”

“What on earth…” Sansa laughed as she walked into the battle-zone that was once her kitchen.  Taking in the visible signs of a struggle, she placed one hand on her hip, cocked a ginger eyebrow, and teased, “So, big boy, who one this round?  You or the pancakes?”

“Yeah, that’s real funny, ha-ha,” Sandor mocked, tossing the oven mitt onto the counter by the sink.  Smiling widely, he stalked forward slowly, his eyes cast downward to her chest.  “Hmm, did somebody forget to wear her undergarments this morning?”  Sansa glanced downward, noticing her hardened nipples standing at full attention.  Wrapping his arms around her small waist, he roughly pulled her toward him.

“Is that a problem?” she retorted, running her hands along his stomach and up through his chest hair.

“Absolutely not,” he replied, lowering his head to place a string of feather-light kisses on her neck.

“Where did you get all of this stuff?” Sansa questioned with a grin, moaning slightly as Sandor’s hands travelled under her t-shirt and headed north.

“Apparently, you ladies have no idea what is in your kitchen cabinets,” Sandor countered as he kneaded her breasts, rubbing his thumbs in circles around her nipples, returning his attention to the other side of her long neck.

“Damn, no…I don’t…my mother brought…some stuff...oh!” Sansa squeaked.  She pulled firmly on his hair, causing him to look up.  “Don’t try to distract me,” she purred, “Where did you learn to make pancakes from scratch?”

Sandor stood and smiled down at Sansa, lowering his hands to her waist, tracing small circles on her lower back.  “Me Grannie taught me to be independent,” he said with a chuckle, “Probably figured I’d never have a woman to look after me.  I can cook, clean, do the wash, and fix just about anything around the house.  And I’m completely house-broken.”

With that joke, Sansa laughed so hard she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.  “Housebroken, you say?  Well, you’re quite the catch, aren’t you?”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed slightly at her comment, his lips curving into a wicked grin.  He bent down, pushing aside her fiery, untamed mane from her ear, and leaned in to whisper, “Would you like to find out what else I’m good at, little bird?”  Her eyes widened at the insinuation.  As her mouth opened to tell him to get his firm ass back in that bed, they heard a light knock on the front door.  They both jumped apart as if someone had thrown scalding hot water on them.

“It’s Margaery, no doubt,” Sansa giggled at their reaction, “I bet she forgot her keys again.”

“Or…” Sandor said with a smirk, “She’s just making sure that she doesn’t walk in to see me having my way with you right here on this kitchen counter.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at the thought he just planted in her brain.  Before she could think up a witty reply, though, Sandor spoke first.

“Why don’t you go grab a shower, and I’ll let her in,” Sandor suggested with a naughty smirk spreading across his face.  “I’d love to see your little friend’s face when I open that door looking like this,” he added, sweeping his hand up and down his form.  “Unless, of course, you’d rather I hide in the closet or under your bed.”

After what she had done with him for hours last night, Sansa was feeling extraordinarily bold.  “Absolutely not!  You’re not hiding anywhere, mister,” she answered, quickly closing the distance between them, placing a chaste kiss on his scarred cheek, “She’d figure it out sooner or later.”  They heard the knocking at the front door grow louder.  “Do it!  You go let her in.  I mean, I’m already virtually caught in the act, so why not?  Oh, she’s going to pee on herself when she sees that you’re still here!”

Sandor gave Sansa a quick peck on the lips, told her to get, and proceeded to lightly slap her on her pert little ass as she left to jump in the shower.  Leaving his shirt unbuttoned to give her soon-to-be-shocked friend the full effect, he sauntered over to the door, clearing his throat in preparation for a verbal sparring contest he was sure that Margaery would start once she laid eyes on him.  As he unlocked the door and yanked it open, Sandor’s self-satisfied grin faded instantly when he realized that Margaery was not standing on the doorstep.  It was one of the young men that he had seen last night in Sansa’s family photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who do you think is standing on the doorstep?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is surprised to see one of Sansa's brothers standing on the doorstep. He tries to escape before Sansa comes out of the shower, but he's too late. Busted!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab some popcorn and enjoy the show!

If wishes could be granted in real life, Sandor’s one wish at that very moment in time would be that the ground would open up right there on Sansa’s doorstep and swallow him whole.

“Oh, hey,” the much shorter man said as he smiled and looked up at Sandor, “Don’t mind me; I’m just here to pick up my sister, Sansa.”  Sandor didn’t need the man to tell him that he was her brother.  He had seen that very face in Sansa’s family photos last night.

Although the young man standing on the porch bared little resemblance to Sansa, he was one of the handsomest men that Sandor had ever seen.  With his brown eyes, dark brown chin-length curls, and short, dark brown beard, her older brother looked like he could have walked straight off the pages of a fashion magazine.  His tightly-fitted, stone washed jeans, his snugly-fitted chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his rather expensive looking pair of tan cowboy boots completed his model-quality look.

 _Well, fuck me, are all the Stark men this damn beautiful in person?_  Sandor sniffed internally.

During the interim between opening the door and sizing up Sansa’s brother, Sandor had remained absolutely silent and completely still.  Unconsciously sporting his trademark stoic yet slightly irritated visage, Sandor stood at his full height, shirt hanging open, staring down at Sansa’s brother with narrowed eyes as if the younger, shorter fellow had suddenly sprouted two heads. 

“Uh, would it be OK if I came in?” the handsome young man said, scratching at his beard, now blatantly gawking at Sandor’s large frame and damaged face as well as the state of his undress.  Apparently, the shorter man now was growing a bit concerned that a mute, half-dressed giant with some serious facial scarring was standing inside his sister’s apartment.

“Sorry, yes, of course,” Sandor said awkwardly, stepping aside and motioning for Sansa’s brother to come inside the apartment.  When he entered, the younger man turned around quickly, sticking out his hand to introduce himself.

“I’m Jon, by the way,” he said with a smile as Sandor shook his hand in return.

“Sandor,” he barely choked out.

“Nice to meet you, Sandor.  I’m Sansa’s older brother.  Well, one of them at least,” Jon added with a huge grin, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.  “Say, have we met before?” Jon said, cocking his head to the side to study Sandor more closely.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Sandor said as he shut the front door.  Running his hand through his long, black hair in frustration at the seemingly ridiculousness of Jon’s question, Sandor turned to face Sansa’s brother, “I do believe you’d remember if you’d seen a face like this.”

“Yeah, uh, I mean…” Jon stumbled to find something to say in response to Sandor’s comment.  Suddenly, his entire face lit up with mischief as it dawned on him why Sandor looked familiar, “Wait!  I know!  You’re one of the bouncers at King’s Landing!”

_Fantastic.  Just absolutely fucking fantastic._

“Guilty as charged,” Sandor huffed, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“I knew I’d seen you before!” Jon smiled, wagging his finger playfully at Sandor, “A few weeks ago, I saw you manhandle some ass that tried to start a fight with the bartender then took a swing at you when you told him to leave.  My friends and I thought you were freaking awesome when you hauled that guy out of there like you were some sort of kung fu action hero!”  Jon added, punctuating his enthusiasm by showing a few karate punches.

“You’ll need to be more specific, I’m afraid,” Sandor smirked, knowing he shouldn’t say it but finding himself unable to resist, “I manhandle lots of folks.”  _Just ask your sister,_ he thought smugly to himself.

As Jon’s smile faded into a puzzled expression, the awkward silence that descended upon the two men was virtually audible.

“So, uh, where’s Sansa?” her brother asked, his eyes beginning to scan the living room, taking in the wild scene before him.

“She…I believe she’s in the shower,” Sandor muttered as he watched the younger man assess the obvious signs that something sexual had occurred in the apartment.  Two empty wine glasses sat on the coffee table, juxtaposed with a lacey pink bra.  An empty bottle of wine was sitting on the coffee table as well, and another empty bottle sat on top of the bar between the living room and kitchen.  Completing the evidence of a night of debauchery were the various articles of women’s clothing thrown about, laying in several interesting locations around the couch and living room floor.

 _Fuck,_ Sandor panicked as he quickly glanced around the room, _I have to get out of here before she comes out!_

“Well, well…” Jon chuckled, an enormous grin on his face as he looked at Sandor, “Hey, if it’s OK with you, I’ll just wait out here for Sansa.  I’m supposed to pick her up then head over to White Harbor to meet our mom for brunch today,” he continued as he noticed that some of the furniture looked out of place, “But I’m a tad early.”

“Yeah, early…” Sandor mumbled, feverishly buttoning his shirt, trying to recall whether Sansa had mentioned last night that she had plans today.  He was coming up dry.

“So…you must be Margaery’s new boyfriend, yeah?” Jon questioned while casually flopping down on the plush, white armchair, letting himself spread out in comfort with his arms draped along the back.  Studying Sandor’s seemingly tense expression, Jon continued, “Sansa told me that her little buddy had met someone _very_ special.”  He waited for Sandor’s reply, smiling as Sandor tucked his shirt into his dress pants, but still nothing came out of the massive man’s mouth.  So, Jon continued to fill the silence in the room, his eyes narrowed slightly now at the once again mute giant with the scarred face, “You’re a very lucky guy.  Margaery’s a great gal!”

“Margaery?  Right, Margaery…well, look, it’s been a real treat, but I best be on my way,” Sandor fumbled as he started looking around the living room for his socks and shoes.

“Hey, man, don’t feel like you have to leave on my account!” Jon laughed as he watched the huge figure scurrying about the living room, “I’m used to all of this.  Sansa and Margaery have been friends since high school.  Nothing shocks me anymore when it comes to Miss Margaery Tyrell.  She’s something else – but, then, I guess I don’t have to tell you that, eh?” Jon said with a suggestive waggling of his eyebrows.

“Whatever you say, mate,” Sandor replied, a slight growl to his voice.  After throwing on his socks and shoes, quickly tying the laces, now desperately trying to find the keys to his Jeep, all Sandor could think about was how he needed to get the hell out of that front door to save what little of Sansa’s honor he had left her.

Finally tracking down the keys that had fallen off the end table and beneath the couch during one of his adventures with Sansa last night, Sandor finally made a break for freedom.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Jon.  I’ll be off then,” Sandor said with a nod, reaching for the doorknob.  Just as he was about to open the front door to escape, Sandor heard Sansa’s sing-song voice floating down the hallway from her bedroom.

“So, Margaery, have you picked your jaw up off the floor yet?  I bet you peed on yourself when you found Sandor still here with me this morning!” Sansa teased. 

Sandor stood frozen in place, holding the doorknob in his hand, his entire body so anxious now that he was afraid he might squeeze the damn knob until it broke.  He could feel the sudden explosion of tension in the living room.  _This is going to be fun,_ he groaned inwardly.

Slowly, Sandor let go of the door knob, turning around to see Jon’s wide-eyed, confused expression staring directly at him.  Deciding it best to stay and to take his dose of medicine now, Sandor simply raised his good eyebrow at Jon and baited, “Well, c’mon mate, Sansa tells me you’re a smart lad, yeah?  You still trying to sort it all out in that pretty head of yours?”

Jon’s expression quickly lost any signs of confusion and travelled rapidly into shock, “You’re here…with my sister?  Not Margaery?”

“It appears that way, yes,” Sandor stated, defiantly folding his arms in front of his massive chest.  Bracing himself for the inevitable, Sandor decided on the spot that if Jon wanted to take a swing at him, he would allow her brother to land one, solid punch.

“Holy _shit_ …” Jon uttered as the shocked look on his face mutated into a devilish grin, “You and Sansa?  Like, _you and Sansa?_ ” he added, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder back toward Sansa’s bedroom, “You’re…you two…”

“Fuck, don’t say it,” Sandor snarled while rolling his eyes, interrupting Jon before he could finish his thought, “Do you _really_ want to know if I’m shagging your little sister?”

“Woah, don’t tell me anything!” Jon barked out with a horrified look plastered on his face, both of his hands waving in the air furiously, “That counts as _way_ too much information for sure!”  He then began to laugh uncontrollably, the total awkwardness of the situation getting to him now, “My little sister!  You and my little sister…holy shit…I can’t believe it!”  Jon ran one of his hands through his curls, shaking his head in disbelief, “Oh, man, when Robb finds out about this – he’ll blow a gasket for sure!”

As he debated if he should explain to Jon that his sister’s purity actually remained intact, Sandor noticed Sansa standing directly behind Jon’s chair, her small fists clenched tightly by her sides.  Dressed in faded gray jeans and a long sleeve white t-shirt, Sansa’s damp hair was left in its naturally curly condition, draped casually over her shoulders.  Admiring her beauty, Sandor forgot for a moment that Jon was even present in the apartment.  However, the angry looked splayed across Sansa’s crimson face, red from her cheeks all the way up to her hairline, snapped Sandor back to reality.  He almost felt sorry for what she was about do to Jon.

“Jon Christopher Stark!” Sansa yelled loudly, causing Jon to yelp in surprise and to jump straight out of his chair, “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Sansa, love…” Sandor attempted to interject, hoping to diffuse her wrath, but he was met with Sansa’s cold stare.

“Be. Quiet.  I got this,” she hissed, holding one hand up to silence him on the matter.  Sandor’s mouth stayed open but no further words dared to escape. _She’s quite scary looking when she’s angry,_ he mused.

Jon held his hands up in a mock-defensive manner, “C’mon, Sansa, calm down!  I didn’t mean to burst in here and break up your little slumber party.”  With that poorly timed attempt at humor, Sansa started grabbing every throw pillow from the armchair and the couch, hurling them one-by-one at Jon’s head.

“Don’t you say another word!” Sansa shouted as Jon ducked and dodged the flying pillows, finally getting caught directly in the face by one particularly fluffy neon striped one, “How dare you?  You are _not_ going to sit there and judge me!” 

“Sansa, wait!” Jon cried out, dropping the pillow that had made contact onto the floor.  He was still smiling broadly now, desperately trying not to laugh out loud and to send his pissed little sister over the edge, “Listen!  Stop!  I think it’s great that you finally…well, you know…” Jon said as he nodded his head toward Sandor.

“For the record, we actually didn’t – ,“ Sandor spoke, once again trying to step into the argument between the siblings in a feeble attempt to help.

“It’s none of his business what we did or didn’t do!” Sansa fumed, shooting him an icy glare.  Sandor, completely frustrated with the whole absurd situation, simply threw his hands up into the air, storming off into the kitchen while cursing something in Gaelic under his breath.  As Sandor exited, Sansa marched up to Jon, standing directly in front of him, looking him eyeball to eyeball, and demanded, “I’ll ask this once again; why are you even here?”

“Brunch with mom?  Today?  _Remember?”_ Jon said smugly, folding his arms in front of him.

“Oh…oh, shit!” Sansa gulped as her eyes widened in horror, “I totally forgot that was today!”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty obvious,” Jon smirked as he reached out to hold Sansa’s small hand.  Not pulling her hand away from his, Sansa lowered her head in defeat, resting her forehead upon Jon’s broad shoulders. “You know, Sansa,” he continued, “I’m just teasing you.  Sorry if I’ve been a dick about the whole thing.”  With his other hand, Jon patted her hair to try to comfort her, “You know I love you, sis.  I’m really happy that you…found someone.”

“I know, I know, I love you too,” Sansa said quietly, her breathing slowing down and her anger slipping away, “And I’m sorry I got so mad at you.  It’s just…I was _not_ expecting to see one of my brothers here this morning.  In my living room.  With Sandor…”  _Oh, no…_

Suddenly realizing how she had treated Sandor during her attack on Jon, Sana’s head jerked up and off Jon’s shoulder.  “Listen, you have to go,” she demanded , dragging Jon by his hand to the front door, “Tell Mom that I’m sick or that I have to study.  Make up any excuse.  Tell her anything but _this,”_ Sansa whispered to Jon as she pointed between herself and the kitchen where they could hear Sandor banging dishes and cursing under his breath.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Jon chuckled as Sansa yanked open the door.  “But shouldn’t I say good-by to your little, I mean huge, friend in there?”

“No!  I’m fairly certain he’ll understand if you don’t,” Sansa quipped with a small grin, “Now, seriously, go!” she said, pushing Jon backwards onto the doorstep.

“Can I tell Robb?” begged Jon, shooting one last volley as Sansa shoved him out the door, “Just Robb?  _Please?”_

“If you tell _anyone_ with the last name Stark about this,” Sansa warned, wagging her finger in Jon’s face, “I swear that I’ll tell mom about the time you and Robb and Theon got into Uncle Petyr’s stash of porn when we were staying at Aunt Lysa’s house that summer.”

“Ok, you win,” Jon smirked as she shut the door in his face.

With the door now closed, Sansa laid her head down against it.  As she attempted to figure out what to say to Sandor after she had dismissed him so thoroughly just moments ago, she heard her brother’s voice on the other side of the closed door.

“By the way, Sansa, I’m serious.  I’m happy for you,” Jon shouted, his voice muffled slightly.

Sansa could not help but smile. _Let’s see how happy I am after I try talking to Sandor_ , she said as she walked toward the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Sansa has to apologize to Sandor for ripping his head off when she was angry at her brother. Shall we see how that goes, hmm?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is angry at how Sansa dismissed him when she was dealing with her brother. While apologizing to Sandor, Sansa confesses that she's through being a good girl. And then things get cooking rather quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Sansa has an eat-in kitchen. Just saying...

After he had thrown out the pancakes which had dried out from sitting in the oven far too long and had cleaned up most of the mess that he had made in his attempt to pamper Sansa with breakfast, Sandor was frantically trying to get a handle on himself before he did or said something that he would absolutely regret. 

As Sansa shooed her brother out of the apartment, Sandor braced himself against the kitchen counter, gripping the edges so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, clenching his jaw as hard as he could, desperately trying to figure out why he was so bloody angry in the first place.

Although in his heart he knew that Sansa didn’t mean to snap at him, he was pissed. _Really_ pissed.  She had dismissed him from the room like he was some annoying child nipping at his parents’ heels while they were trying to talk to another adult.

Perhaps he had been wrong to try to insert himself into Sansa’s conversation with Jon in the first place.  Maybe he should’ve just kept his damn big mouth shut the entire time and let her throw pillows or yell at her brother all day long.

Whatever Sandor should have done, he was quite certain that Sansa was clearly embarrassed at having been caught with him in her home by her brother.  And it hurt.  It hurt like a son of a bitch.

Of course, it was perfectly logical that she would be mortified at having her older brother find out that she had been intimate with a man.  She was still a virgin, for fuck’s sake.  Yet, after seeing the look of sheer amusement and utter disbelief on her brother’s face that a woman like Sansa, virgin or not, might want to sleep with a guy like him, Sandor’s years of ingrained self-doubt flared up so badly that he was certain that his doubts would consume him right there in her kitchen if he didn’t get his shite together soon.

He couldn’t help it.  He just really wanted to kick himself for how pathetic he must have seemed in her brother’s eyes.

Having her idiot brother show up this morning had woken Sandor from the euphoric state that he had been in since the previous night when she had asked him to stay with her.  When Sansa had asked him in the wee hours of the morning, snuggling close to him as they lay together in her bed, a naked pile of tangled limbs, he actually had asked her to repeat herself because he could not believe what he had heard.  Then this morning, when Sansa seemed so damn happy to have him still hanging around, Sandor knew then without a doubt that he would never truly want to leave her side.  He was like a stray dog hanging around a kind hand that had taken a liking to him and had shown him affection.

While Sandor cycled through his litany of reasons why she most likely would never want to see him again, Sansa tentatively entered the kitchen, witnessing the sight before her.  _He’s hurting,_ she instinctively knew.  Only having been involved with Sandor for a week, she already could read his body language and every nuance of his facial expressions as if they had been together for years.  She cautiously approached Sandor from the rear, flanking him on his side as she reached to lay her hand on his back, “Please, Sandor, don’t be upset with Jon.”

“Upset?” Sandor sniffed as he released the counter, standing to his full height.  Quickly turning to face her, he caused her hand to fall short of reaching her target, “Now, why on earth would I be upset?” he snarled, looking down into Sansa’s pale blue eyes.  He had put on a false smile that fell far short of the level of indignation in his demeanor.  As Sandor folded his arms in front of his chest, he spat, “Your brother is quite the charmer, really.  It was heartwarming to know that he approves.”

“Sandor, don’t,” Sansa cautioned as she looked straight up into his hard stare.  She yet again tried to reach out to him, this time attempting to touch his arm, “You have a right to be upset with him, and me as well, considering how I handled that whole situation.”

Although Sandor desperately wanted her to touch him, his internal struggle to believe that she might still want him after the way her brother had carried on only caused him to pull back.  He lowered his eyes to the floor, fearing that this was the part of the conversation where Sansa told him to leave and not to return.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Sansa spoke softly as she reached up to gently stroke the scars on his right cheek, which to her relief, caused Sandor to slightly lean into her touch.  “Look at me,” she pleaded both with her voice and with her eyes.  Sandor’s eyes slowly tracked to meet hers.  “Jon was shocked when he realized that you were here with me, I know.  But he apologized.”  Sansa lowered her hand from his face to his chest, placing her hand over his heart.  “And if I had given him the chance, I know that he would’ve apologized to you, too,” she continued as she cautiously placed her other hand on his hip, “But I didn’t let him because I didn’t want to have to bury my brother come Monday.” Sansa could see that her attempt at levity had gotten to Sandor as a hint of a smile began to show on his face.

Taking his smile as a sign that he would not lock up and shut her out completely, Sansa lowered her hand that was resting on Sandor’s chest and tugged at his forearm while slipping her other hand around his waist.  He released his self-protective stance, wrapping her into a tight embrace.  She placed her head where her hand had lain, listening to the rapid beat of his heart.  Sandor responded immediately, lowering his head to rest his scarred cheek on top of her head and to mirror her pose, holding her tightly with his long arms.

“I’m so sorry, Sandor,” she said quietly, her voice cracking with the sadness she felt at having seemed distressed to be found with him, “I should have stood by your side proudly instead of shooing you away like some irritating child.  Will you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you.” Sandor said soothingly, stroking her copper hair, “I’m sorry, too, Sansa,” he said while staring blankly at her stove, “I should have left this morning when I woke up.  I shouldn’t have stayed.  None of this would’ve happened if I had gone.”

“Nonsense!” Sansa replied firmly.  She broke their embrace to reach up and cup his face in her delicate hands and look him squarely in his gray eyes.  Sansa desperately wanted him to know that her feelings for him were genuine.  “Do you think that I’m upset because Jon thinks that you fucked me?  I really don’t give a shit if he knows that you spent the night with me.”  Her language and frankness caused Sandor’s good eyebrow to shoot up almost to his hairline.

Sensing his shock, Sansa smiled widely, lowering her hands to rest on his shoulders as she continued, “Frankly, I really don’t give a damn _who_ knows.  Do you want to know the real reason that I was so angry?” Sansa asked, running her hands down Sandor’s arms, resting them at his elbows, “I’ll tell you why.  I’ve always done everything that everyone has ever wanted me to do or expected me to do.  I’m the ‘good girl,’ you see?” she said as her voice cracked.  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips unconsciously as she watched the wave of understanding wash over him.  “I’m tired of being the good girl, Sandor.  I think that it’s time that I do things that _I_ want to do.”

“And what is that, little bird?”  Sandor smirked, his hands sliding down her back to give her ass a firm squeeze, “Tell me what it is you want.”

“I want _you_.” Sansa boldly declared.

That was all the reassurance Sandor needed.

As his lips crashed into hers, Sansa met his ferocity with an equal level of passion.  Grabbing his hair tightly, she tugged forcefully while his hands roamed freely over her backside, making their way up her sides and under her long sleeve t-shirt.  Sandor began massaging her breasts, rolling her nipples roughly through the fabric of her bra.  Overcome by the sensation, her head fell backward as she moaned and writhed against his thigh which was now positioned between her legs.  Lowering his head, Sandor licked and nipped his way down her long neck, feeling his manhood pressing uncomfortably at his zipper.

Grabbing her around the waist and lifting her into the air, Sandor sat her down firmly on top of the kitchen counter, spreading her legs so he could stand between them, reaching down to begin undoing the clasp of her jeans.  An equally aroused Sansa reached for the buttons of his dress shirt, tearing at them so roughly she almost ripped them off the fabric.

 _Buggering hell, Clegane, reign it in!_ Sandor knew that if he didn’t slow things down and get a handle on himself, he’d shove his pants down and pound into her virgin cunny right in the middle of her kitchen, just like he had joked about doing earlier that morning.

“Sansa, love, I want to…I need to taste you,” Sandor begged, shifting his focus from his needs to hers. 

“God, yes, please, Sandor,” Sansa whimpered as she pulled open his shirt, letting go long enough to raise up her hips high enough to allow him to pull her jeans and panties down to her ankles. 

“Bloody hell, you’re so wet for me already,” he groaned, feeling the dampness in her panties as he yanked them off completely.  Sandor tossed her discarded clothes over his shoulder, grabbing her knees and opening her wide to his gaze.  He could smell her arousal.  “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you scream my name, Miss Stark,” he warned lasciviously, lowering himself to his knees.  With Sansa staring at him directly in his gray eyes, Sandor grasped her legs, lifting them up to rest on his broad shoulders on either side of his head.

When Sandor’s mouth quickly descended upon her core, Sansa gasped loudly.  Grabbing onto his hair forcefully, she watched in awe as Sandor lapped her folds and sucked her clit like a starving man.  “Sandor, oh God… that…that feels…it feels…so good,” she muttered incoherently.  Sansa’s eyes closed tightly when he inserted two fingers inside her cunny and began pumping them rapidly in tandem with the ministrations of his skilled mouth.

The coldness of the countertop tile pressing under her bottom mingled with the rising heat she sensed between her legs made Sansa feel as if she might erupt in flames right on the spot.  Shamelessly, she rocked and ground her hips into his face as he massaged that sweet spot buried inside of her, chasing her arousal to its peak.  “I’m…gonna…oh, Sandor!” she cried out loudly, the waves of her orgasm almost drowning her.

“What a beautiful thing it is to watch you fall apart,” Sandor hummed as he removed his fingers, giving one final kiss to her inner thigh.  As Sansa opened her eyes, he made sure that she watched while he licked her arousal off his fingers.  Careful to make sure that in her weakened state Sansa did not fall, Sandor slowly lowered her legs from his shoulders, holding onto her waist as he helped her stand.  “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that to you,” he said as his tongue swiped across his lips.

“I certainly hope not,” Sansa giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  She placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, still glistening with her arousal, tasting herself in the process.  “I don’t know where you learned to do that, and really, I don’t want to know, but _wow_ , you’re good at it.”

Unable to contain his pride, Sandor replied, “You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, love.”  They burst into a fit of laughter, holding each other in a tight embrace.  _How the fuck did you get so lucky, you dog?_ Sandor wondered as he felt her running her nails softly across his back through his dress shirt. 

“How long do we have before you have to go to work?” Sansa asked, biting her bottom lip.  Sandor knew that look.  That was the look of a little bird wanting to come out and play.

“What are you up to now?” Sandor grinned.

“Well, I do want to keep you all to myself as long as possible,” Sansa replied with a smirk, lowering her hand between them and cupping him roughly through his dress pants.  “And there’s something else that I really want to _stroke_ before you leave,” she purred, giving his cock a playful squeeze.

“Fuck,” Sandor hissed, covering her small, delicate hand with his as she started to undo his belt and zipper, “I have classes at the gym starting at one,” he continued as she batted his hand away, reaching inside his slacks, pulling out his long, thick cock in her hand and slowly pumping, “Damn…I just…what was I talking about?”

“What time you need to leave,” she reminded him, lowering herself to her knees, licking the head all around the rim before placing a kiss to the tip.

Sandor felt his legs beginning to weaken as she started blowing him.  “In an hour or so…fuck…I just need to get home…fucking hell…to get a shower…woman, you’re _killing_ me,” he rasped when she hummed while sucking as hard as she could.

Releasing his dick with a pop, continuing to pump while smiling up at him, she replied, “Well, it sounds to me like I have plenty of time after all…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can you not like angst and smut all rolled into one chapter?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Margaery gets home, Sansa is busted yet again. And, after Sansa talks to Margaery about her intense feelings for Bronn, Sansa decides to surprise Sandor tonight at King's Landing with a very interesting piece of information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is ready to make a big step forward!

After a completely sated Sandor left, returning to his apartment to start his work day first at the gym then later at King’s Landing, Sansa began to clean up the mess that she and Sandor had left all over the living room from their previous night together.  As she tossed the wine bottles into the trash and picked up the pieces of her outfit that lay strewn across the floor and furniture, she couldn’t stop herself from grinning like the cat who had caught the proverbial canary. 

Every item that she touched while cleaning house brought back a memory of Sandor.  The way he smelled of sandalwood and spice.  How taut and firm his muscles felt under all that fur.  The slightly high-pitch way he laughed when something struck him really funny.

Walking back to her bedroom to collect the rest of her clothes and to head downstairs to the laundry room, Sansa wondered what it felt like to be in love.  Really in love.  Not merely infatuated or in some state of school-girl crush.  No, she meant the kind of love that burns a woman up from the inside out.  Passionate, raw, unadulterated love.  The kind of love that will always be smoldering right under the surface, long after mortgages are paid and children have come and gone.

The kind of love like her parents, Ned and Catelyn have.

Growing up in the Stark house, each child was fully aware how much their parents adored one another.  Ned never missed a moment to put his arm around his wife, to plant a kiss on her cheek or forehead, or to tuck a stray, wavy auburn lock behind her ear.  And as long as Sansa could remember, Catelyn always kissed her father good-bye before he left the house, no matter if he was departing on a week-long business trip or a 30 minute round-trip run to the grocery store to pick up diapers.

Each child also knew that on Saturday mornings, no one on pain of torture was to disturb their parents until 8:00.  Sansa could still remember how scandalized she felt when Robb had stopped her one Saturday morning when she was nine from going upstairs to try to wake them up.  Intercepting her at the bottom of the stairs, Robb had told her to get lost because mom and dad were busy.  _Very_ busy.  Busy in a way that they _never_ wanted to see with their own eyes.

When she was in high school, Sansa never really dated, except for her terribly brief moment with Loras.  Then college came, and aside from her crush turned horror story with Joffrey, she had never known what love could feel like.

 _Is this love?_ she asked herself as she daydreamed about Sandor while standing in front of her mirror, _Am I in love with him?  Or is this just lust?  Wait, could he love me?  Is it too soon?  Will he ever?_

Still lost in her thoughts, Sansa heard the front door open before she could finish gathering her laundry and head downstairs.

“Sansa?” she heard Margaery’s voice call out from the kitchen, “You home?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Sansa replied, realizing that a shit-eating grin suddenly had sprouted on her lightly freckled face.

Walking down the hallway to the living room, she heard Margaery’s puzzled voice.

“What…the…”

“Something wrong?” Sansa asked as rounded the corner.

Her best friend stood beside the coffee table, hands poised on her hips, eyebrow locked and loaded.

“Have a good time with Sandor last night?” she purred at Sansa.

“Uh, yes, yes I did,” Sansa replied, keeping as straight a face as possible at the moment, “I had a fantastic time at the…why are you looking at me like that?”

Margaery’s tongue darted out, running along her bottom lip as she bent down to pick up a pink, lacey push-up bra off the floor underneath the coffee table, “I’d say so.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Margaery dangling the bra that Sansa had worn last night by one of its straps.

“Oh, God…”

“We’re _so_ going to talk,” Margaery grinned wickedly, tossing the undergarment at Sansa.  “My room.  _Now.”_

For the next hour, Sansa willingly endured a barrage of questions from Margaery that would have rivaled any interrogation conducted during the Spanish Inquisition.  Just like they had always done when they were girls and talked about boys with Sansa dreaming of her crushes and Margaery regaling Sansa with tales of her exploits, they quickly ran to Margaery’s room and piled up on her bed.

Sansa, giddy after her night with Sandor, was actually extremely happy to share with her best friend as many of the details of their time together as she could comfortably explain.  When she described Jon’s arrival and rather sudden exit, she was positive that Margaery’s scream of laughter would cause a neighbor to call the police, but thankfully, no one showed up again on her doorstep unannounced.

When Sansa had finished discussing her night with Sandor, it was Margaery’s turn to share her thrilling news.  After one particularly fabulous round of lovemaking, Bronn had openly declared his love for her.

“Bronn really said that?” Sansa questioned in awe as the two best friends sat together cross-legged on Margaery’s bed, “You two have only known each other, what, a month, if that?”

“What can I say,” Margaery cooed while holding her hands up in the air, “I’m good at what I do.”

“Would you be serious for even one minute!” Sansa demanded, smacking Margaery’s knee, “Plenty of guys have told you that they love you, but you’ve never said it back even once.  Wait…did you say it back to Bronn?”

Margaery stretched out her long legs, leaning back on her arms, nervously worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she answered, “Um, yeah.  I did.”

Sansa’s eyes widen humorously, “Get. Out!  You told him that you love him?  For real?”

Margaery simply shook her head to indicate she had.

“And did you mean it?”

“I do,” Margaery answered with a huge smirk, “I really, really do. 

“So how do you know?” Sansa asked in wonderment. _Is what I feel for Sandor really love?_ Sansa thought, _It sure feels like it._

Margaery sat up straight and reached out to hold Sansa’s hand, “Well, it just kind of snuck up on me, really.  I haven’t been in love since…well, ever?  I mean, not in _love_ love, you know?”  The look etched on Margaery’s face as she spoke about Bronn told Sansa all she needed to know.  Her buddy was in deep.

“Bronn makes me laugh,” Margaery continued, “Like, all the time.  He’s sexy, he’s smart, and truly, he’s an old-fashioned kind of guy.  He dotes on me and treats me like a lady.  He’s not like these ridiculously immature college boys who only want to bang you and then run.  And then there is the sex…it’s so damn _amazing._   Incredible…so, so good.”

Margaery laughed when she saw Sansa’s cheeks turn a deep crimson, “Seriously, after the stunts you pulled with Sandor, _that_ comment made you blush?”  The friends both burst out into a fit of laughter as Margaery’s assessment.

As they calmed down, Margaery added, “But it’s not just the sex, Sansa.  I can’t stop thinking about him.  When I’m sitting in my boring interior design classes, I think about him.  When I’m out running, I think about him.  I miss him when he’s not with me.  I miss him _right now_.”  Margaery lowered her eyes as she thought about the passionate way Bronn had made love to her after she had told him that she loved him too.  “I think he might be the one.”

“No way!” Sansa yelled, “Really?”

“Yeah, I do,” Margaery said, looking up to meet Sana’s eyes, “I really do.”

“Wow.  Just…wow,” Sansa said as she fell backwards on the bed, her pale eyes cast toward the ceiling, “I can’t believe that Bronn was able to tame Margaery Tyrell, self-declared hedonist.”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he _tamed_ me,” Margaery giggled, copying Sansa’s position on the bed, “But I am hoping that he will make an honest woman out of me one day!”

The two young women fell into a comfortable silence as they stared at the ceiling of Margaery’s bedroom.  Lost in her reverie, Sansa decided to drop the bomb she no longer could keep inside herself.

“I think I’m in love with Sandor,” she blurted out, continuing to stare at Margaery’s bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah...I know,” Margaery smiled, now rolling over to face Sansa and propping herself up with one hand under her head.

“How in the world could you know that?” Sansa quizzed, her eyebrows knitting together in a look of both frustration and confusion.

“Because you look at Sandor the same way that I look at Bronn,” Margaery added, reaching out to lightly rub Sansa’s forearm, “You should tell him.”

_If Margaery can tell that I’m in love so easily…oh, God, can Sandor tell?_

“But, I…what if…Sandor might not…” Sansa stammered while twisting her fingers in her long curls, “I mean, we’ve only known each other for a _week_ , for goodness sake!  He’ll think I’m crazy if I tell him that I love him so soon.  He’ll think I’m one of those nut job stalker-women who will scratch up your car and put dead animals on your porch if you dump them!”

Margaery could not contain the bark of laughter that escaped her mouth at Sana’s description. “Sweetie, that man is so far gone for you, everyone with at least one working eyeball can see that Sandor is in love with you, too.”

“ _Really_?  Do you think so?” Sansa squealed, quickly rolling over to face Margaery, mirroring her friend’s pose, “I mean, sometimes I think that he might, but then I just figure it’s me being a stupid, naïve little girl who’s read too many romance novels.”

Margaery’s face turned serious as she spoke, “Sansa, listen to me.  You can go ahead and dick around until Sandor is ready to say it, but trust me on this one.  That man is so scared of being rejected, he would probably eat his own shirt before he says that he loves you out loud first.  Don’t wait.  If you love him, tell him.  I’ll bet my Prada purse that he’ll admit it then.”

Sansa could not stop the smile that overtook her, “You’re right.”  Her heart was racing as if she had run three miles.  Springing off the bed, Sansa turned to Margaery who was still lying on the bed, “I’m going to tell him.  Tonight.”

Margaery sat up and folded her arms across her chest, “Seriously?  Tonight?”

Sansa bit her lip as she thought about what it would feel like to tell Sandor that she was in love with him.  _It would be so wonderful to tell him and hear it back_.

“Yes.  Yes, I am,” she declared, still nervous but determined.

Hopping off the bed and grabbing Sansa into an airtight hug, Margaery shrieked with delight.  “Sansa Stark, my once bashful, backward friend, I’m so damn proud of you right now, I think my head is going to explode!”  Releasing Sansa, Margaery grabbed her by the hand, “Alright, then, let’s get moving.  We need to get a plan of action in place for such a momentous occasion.  He won’t know what hit him when I’m through with you, girl!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love at first sight" would be an applicable idiom to this story, wouldn't you say?


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a serious round of sparring in the gym, Bronn drops a bombshell on Sandor. Now, the question is, what does Sandor intend to do with this newly discovered nugget of information?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like Sansa, it appears that Sandor is also ready make a huge leap forward!

While Sansa and Margaery were busy at their apartment, planning Sansa’s wardrobe while discussing the various ways a woman can show a man that she loves him, Sandor was in the gym sparring with Bronn.  After Sandor’s last self-defense class for the day had ended at 3, Bronn had asked him if he wanted to go a few rounds to stay in shape.  For almost an hour, the two warriors, who thoroughly relished the act of fighting, attacked each other mercilessly and with such ferocity that an untrained onlooker would have thought that they were actually trying to murder one another.  Having exhausted themselves finally, the two men sat together in the middle of their gym floor, each one gulping down enough water to quench their rabid thirst.

“You’re getting old, mate,” Bronn teased, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I could’ve had you down on the mat at least four times, but I was feeling generous today.  Nothing like being in love to make a man go soft, eh?”

“Yeah, right, whatever,” Sandor replied, not realizing the true meaning of Bronn’s comment as Sandor threw his empty water bottle across the gym and sunk it into the trash can, “You and what army?”

“Ha!  Always the sore loser,” Bronn chided, admiring the large bruises on his arms that Sandor had left behind, “You never were good at admitting it.”

“Nothing to admit since we both know I won,” Sandor grinned, twisting his aching neck that he had earned from one of Bronn’s choke holds from side to side, reaching up with one hand to massage it roughly, “And you can’t stand it.”

The two friends drifted into a comfortable silence as they sat together on the gym floor.  Earlier in the afternoon when Sandor had arrived at their apartment, Bronn’s smirk of unsaid knowledge while preparing his lunch made Sandor snarl as he passed by him on the way to the shower.

Having been thoroughly worn out in the most delicious of ways thanks to his adventures with Sansa both last night and again this morning, Sandor didn’t feel the need to take care of business as usual, much to his satisfaction.

Once dressed, Sandor grabbed some cold Chinese take-out from the fridge and sat down beside Bronn in the living room.  After his long-time friend divulged that he was in love with Margaery and that he finally had the balls to tell her so, Sandor had appeared unfazed.  When Bronn had admitted that he even went so far as to tell his girlfriend how he felt, Sandor smiled, telling Bronn that he was truly happy for him and leaned over to give him a hug.

Sandor’s little exhibition of brotherly affection not only rendered Bronn speechless, but it also gave him all the encouragement he needed to try to get Sandor to get a move on with Sansa.

“So, when are you going to tell that exquisite red-head of yours that you’re in love with her?” Bronn said without introduction to his line of questioning, which caused Sandor’s head to whip around to face him like he had just heard a ghost screaming somewhere in the building.

“The fuck did you say?” Sandor barked, bewildered at how Bronn could tell so easily.

“C’mon, mate, it’s me,” Bronn chuckled, pointing to his muscular form with both hands, “I’ve lived with your sorry ass for seven years.  I know you inside and out.  You’re something of an open book, really.  You’re in love.  Admit it.”

“Ah, fuck off,” Sandor growled while hopping up to leave.

“Listen here, you stupid cunt, Sansa loves you, too, so don’t you go fucking it up with her by waiting to tell her,” Bronn sassed, beaming proudly at himself for having dropped a piece of information of that magnitude right into Sandor’s lap.

Sandor stopped dead in his tracks.  _I’m going to break his legs,_ he fumed.“That’s cold, Flynn, even for you,” he snarled, abruptly turning on his heels and stomping loudly toward Bronn, “Why in the seven hells would you say something like that?  Do you really hate me that badly?”  As he stood looming over Bronn, glaring at his friend like he wanted to draw and quarter him right there on the gym floor, Sandor was struck by the extraordinarily smug look plastered on Bronn’s face.  _He’s gone mad,_ Sandor mused, _He’s fucking serious!  Like Sansa would ever truly fall in love with a guy like me._

“Sandor, you know that I would never kid around with you about something like that,” Bronn said sternly, standing from his cross-legged position on the mat, rising to his full six feet.  “She’s the best fucking thing to happen to you since I’ve known you,” Bronn declared while poking Sandor squarely in the chest, “And I’ve seen the way you look at her, mate.  You’re so enamored with the lass, it’s downright hilarious.”  Whacking Sandor’s shoulder with his hand, Bronn’s face lit up with merriment, “And the beautiful thing is, Sansa loves you, too.  I have it from a reliable source, you know.”

“Who told you that?” Sandor gasped, stepping into Bronn’s personal space while staring down at his friend with hopeful eyes, “Was it Margaery?  Did she tell you that?” Sandor quizzed, a dumbfounded expression rapidly stretching across his face.

“I can’t reveal my sources, mate,” Bronn chuckled darkly, now walking backwards toward the exit to head upstairs to their apartment, “But let’s just say this: my source texted me earlier and told me that I might need to warn a certain giant individual that he’d better be on his best behavior tonight because said individual just _might_ hear something very interesting come out of the mouth of one certain little bird.”  With that last statement, Bronn spun around with a laugh and quickly jogged upstairs.

Sandor stood in the middle of the empty gym unable to breathe.  He felt as if someone had sucker-punched him right in the solar plexus.  _Sansa is in love with me?_ his brain raced furiously, desperately trying to process what Bronn had just said.  Sandor’s eyes raised slowly, meeting his reflection in one of the mirrors along the gym wall.   _She plans to tell me?  Tonight?_   The idea that someone like Sansa Stark could ever be in love with as unworthy of a man as he was seemed ludicrous.

“Seven hells!” Sandor laughed, running his hands through his sweaty hair, “She loves me?”  Continuing to stare at his scarred visage, Sandor, who had not thought about his mother in years, allowed the memories of her to wash over him.  He could see his mother’s crystal blue eyes smiling down at him and feel the warmth between their bodies as she rocked him to sleep.  His mother’s long curly, red mane was drifting across her shoulders, tickling his nose as she sang him his favorite lullaby.

He could feel a lump in his throat as his thoughts drifted to his beloved sister, Elspeth.  Sandor remembered how she loved to jump on the huge featherbed that she had shared with him in the attic bedroom of their parents’ home, her long, curly black hair bouncing wildly and her deep blue eyes alight with mischief.

As the emotions of love and longing swirled throughout him, he thought of Sansa and how much she reminded him of his mother and sister.  She was both beautiful and ethereal.  Swallowing hard, Sandor decided that for once, Bronn may actually be right about something; he needed to tell Sansa that he loved her.

“I love her,” Sandor whispered to himself in the mirror, a huge smile consuming his scarred face, “I do.  I love her.”  Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands through his hair once again before turning to race up the stairs to his apartment, taking them two at a time, to get ready for his shift at King’s Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will these two actually have the courage to confess their feelings tonight at King's Landing? Stay tuned to find out!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa talks with Margaery and Bronn while waiting to see Sandor at King's Landing. After her best friend and her boyfriend disappear, Sansa is accosted by Joffrey. And much to her surprise, she handles him all by herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a terribly fun chapter to write!

As Sansa walked into King’s Landing with Margaery and Bronn, the music pounding from the live band on stage as well as the racket made by the crowd of people milling about the club sounded distinctly muffled to Sansa’s ears.  After arriving at the club, she had impatiently waited outside with Margaery who had texted Bronn to let them know that they had arrived.  Desperately wanting to surprise Sandor tonight, Sansa had spoken to him by telephone a couple of hours ago, making plans to see each other tomorrow since tonight was his night to close the club.

When Bronn had met them outside of the club, he bowed deeply in front of Sansa with a tremendous amount of flourish, loudly praising her for her unmentionable skills at softening the mighty beast that was his best friend.  Red-faced at the attention drawn to her, dozens of puzzled hopeful club patrons staring at her like she suddenly developed a third arm, Sansa simply smiled sheepishly as Margaery cackled profusely.

After Bronn had escorted the two college coeds inside the club and had led them to a four-seater high top next to the bar, all Sansa could hear running on an endless loop inside her head were the three little words she so urgently wanted to tell Sandor tonight:

_I love you._

“So, where is he hiding tonight?” Sansa asked with a grin, her eyes hurriedly scanning the dance floor, searching all of his normal sentry points, hoping to catch a glimpse of him stalking toward her any second.

“He’s still in a meeting upstairs with Tyrion at the moment,” Bronn replied, holding out her chair for her to sit next to Margaery.

“A meeting?” Sansa wondered aloud, her copper eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Right now?  At 9:30 at night?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Bronn answered, placing a chaste kiss on Margaery’s mouth, “He should be down any minute, though.”  Looking over at Sansa, seeing her look of concern, Bronn couldn’t help but chuckle, “Don’t worry, love.  He’s not in any trouble.  If I’m not mistaken, Tyrion is offering Sandor a raise to try to keep his giant ass happy so he’ll stop pestering the Lannisters about leaving the club to open our own gym.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up with excitement at the thought, “Sandor told me that you two were planning to do that someday.  I hope that you two are able to fulfill that dream very soon.”  As she looked up toward the offices on the second floor, her smile widened as she thought about her time spent in his gym not so long ago, “He is such a fantastic teacher.”

Bronn’s expression softened, sensing just how much Sansa cared for his best friend, “Aye, that he is.”

“So, Bronn,” Sansa continued, shooting a glance at her best friend seated next to her, “Did Margaery tell you why I wanted to come here in secret?”

“She certainly did,” he grinned, leaning forward, resting on his forearms beside Margaery, “And for what it’s worth, I approve whole-heartedly.”

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at Bronn’s admission, “Thank you, Bronn.  I’m really glad to know that you like me.”

“Like you?” he laughed, his head thrown back in merriment, “Darling, I adore you.  You’re the best thing to happen to Sandor since…well, since I’ve known him.”

Having been silent long enough, Margaery finally spoke as she finished reapplying her lipstick, shoving her compact and make-up back into her tiny clutch, “Listen, if you two don’t stop fawning all over each other, I’m liable to get jealous.  And you don’t want to see that, trust me.”

Bronn and Sansa laughed loudly at Margaery’s taunt, “Oh, you don’t have anything to worry about, sweetheart,” Bronn replied, taking Margaery’s hand into his own and leaning down to place a lingering kiss on her knuckles, “You know that I love you and you alone.”

“That’s more like it,” Margaery purred, leaning forward, allowing Bronn to kiss her.

While Margaery and Bronn’s kiss rapidly degenerated into an out-and-out battle of tongues, Sansa blushed at their extraordinarily public display of affection.  _Dear Lord,_ Sansa mused, not able to look away completely from the show occurring right next to her, _They really need to find an empty corner somewhere before they wind up humping each other right here in the middle of the bar!_

“You know what,” Sansa said after clearing her throat, snapping her best friend and her boyfriend back to reality, “I’ll be fine sitting here by myself until Sandor is free should you two need some time alone…to be alone…somewhere alone here at the club.”

Neither Margaery nor Bronn needed any further hint.

“Shall I show you the warehouse where we store our alcohol?” Bronn said, breathing slightly heavier than normal, staring hard into Margaery’s eyes.

“Yes, dear God, yes,” Margaery replied, a devious smile stretching across her beautiful face.  She turned toward Sansa, placing her hand on her best friend’s forearm, “Are you sure you’ll be OK?”

“Come on, Marge,” Sansa laughed, patting her hand, “I’m a big girl.  I even wore my big girl panties tonight.  I’ll be fine!  What could happen?”

Margaery’s eyebrow cocked, locked and loaded to fire a saucy retort, but she was cut off at the pass.

“Don’t even go there,” Sansa warned, wagging her long, pink nails at Margaery, “Just go already!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Bronn laughed, yanking Margaery by her hand and leading her away toward the side exit next to the bar.

Now sitting by herself, Sansa took a long, deep breath.  She pulled out her cell phone to check the time and noticed that she had a new text message.

It was Sandor.  He had texted her just a few minutes ago.  Only three little words lit up her screen when she opened his message:

_Sandor:  I miss you._

The warmth spreading through her chest at just reading those words made her feel even more confident that tonight was the night she would tell him that she was in love with him.  They had only been apart a few hours, yet he was already telling her that he missed her.

_Sansa:  I miss you, too.  When you’re done with your meeting, head down to the bar.  Someone is sitting there waiting to see you._

Smiling at herself for her attempt at being alluring and mysterious, she heard a high-pitched male laugh directly behind her.

“Well, well, well,” the slightly slurred male voice sneered, “Look who’s come out to play tonight, fellas!”

_Shit, shitty, shit, shit!  Joffrey!_

Her long, freshly straightened copper mane whipping in the air, Sansa’s head snapped around to see Joffrey Baratheon, Westeros University’s resident rich boy and pervert, standing behind her with two of his cronies from his fraternity.

“Joffrey, leave me alone,” Sansa hissed, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of her seat and table, “Just go away.  I’m not in the mood for you and your mouth at all.”

As Joffrey threw his head back in sheer delight at hearing her forceful words, no doubt assuming she couldn’t protect herself this time any better than she had two years ago when Joffrey had tried to have his way with her at Robb’s fraternity.

“Not in the mood, you say?” Joffrey replied, closing the short distance between himself and Sansa’s chair, moving to stand to her left, “That’s the story of your life, isn’t it, you frigid little bitch?”

Her heart began to race rapidly as her brain tried to process where this altercation was headed.  Joffrey’s sidekick ( _What the hell is his name?  Merlin?  Meryn?)_ with the dark hair and eyes moved to stand close to her on her right side while his other buddy whose name she couldn’t recall moved to stand behind her.  Leaning forward, Joffrey caged her in with his arms, one grabbing her hand still holding onto her chair and the other placed right beside her other hand on the table.

“Joffrey, I’m warning you, get lost!” she said, trying to release her hand from his grip.

“Or what, Sansa?” Joffrey sneered, leaning into her personal space, “You gonna call your stupid jock brother to come to your rescue again?”  The fear in her eyes only fueled Joffrey’s wicked grin, “What was that?” he asked, mocking her much to the delight of his frat buddies, “Nothing smart to say?  No?”

“Joffrey, please,” she replied, hating herself for how feeble she sounded.  His hand that he had rested on the table started sliding up her forearm, resting on her upper arm, squeezing her flesh slightly.

“I like a woman who begs for it,” he chuckled darkly, “And I do believe you’ll be begging me for it soon enough.”  Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sadistic smirk while he continued to squeeze her arm, causing her to wince from the pain, “Now get up and come with me nicely, and I promise I’ll take you easy the first time.”

As he leaned in close to her face, Sansa could smell how he reeked of alcohol.  _He’s drunk,_ she assessed quickly, _Fantastic._

“You’re wasted, you idiot!” she shouted at him, “Go home and sleep it off!”

Joffrey’s narrow green eyes darted to his buddy, Meryn, who was grinning widely, “Looks like this one has some spunk, Joff.  I do love it when they fight a little.”

The three frat boys laughed in unison as they stared hard at Sansa.  When she tried to yank her arm away from Joffrey, the smile that spread across his face was downright sinister.

“Get up,” Joffrey ordered, “Right.  Now.  Or I’ll let my buddies have a go at you when I’m through,” Joffrey threatened, pulling on Sansa’s arm until she was standing up beside him.

The room began to spin.  Sansa felt like she might faint.  The memories of how helpless she had felt that night at Robb’s frat house all came back to her in a instant.  She remembered the hateful way Joffrey had thrown her down on some frat guy’s bed, pinning her down, groping her breasts with one hand and trying to shove his other hand up her skirt.  She was just as afraid then as she was right now.

But unlike the last time Joffrey had tried to abuse her, Sansa now had a secret weapon. 

_Sandor…_

Sandor’s words from the day he gave her the self-defense training suddenly ran through her brain.

_“When some fucker grabs you, you have less than five seconds to make a decision that could save your life.  That’s it.  You can bend over and take it or you can take charge.”_

Digging deep, channeling her fear into rage, Sansa yelled at the top of her lungs, “Fuck off, Joffrey!”  Before he could react, she stomped on top of his foot with her sky-high heels, causing Joffrey to howl in pain.  Sansa grabbed his hand that was still holding onto her with her free hand, yanking his fingers backward like she was peeling a banana which caused Joffrey to lose his grip.

_“That’s it, girl!  Fight!  Use your body - turn!”_

Whirling around like a top, Sansa struck Joffrey square in the chest with her elbow, knocking him off-balance and causing him to fall flat onto the ground. 

As she panted from the adrenaline rush coursing throughout her veins, she looked up quickly, meeting the bewildered stares of Joffrey’s cronies.  They stood immobilized as if they were frozen in place, their mouths hanging open like they’d just seen a naked zombie streak right through the bar.

Sansa also quickly realized that the entire bar area where she had just knocked Joffrey on his ass had fallen completely silent.  The band had stopped playing, the patrons were watching the entire scene, and to her relief, Sandor was standing not one foot away from her.

“Is that the little fucker who tried to hurt you once before?” Sandor growled, his eyes narrowed as he glared down at Joffrey.  The enormous man’s fists were quivering in anticipation by his sides.  As Joffrey stood back on his feet, Sansa nodded her head in agreement.  That was all the information Sandor needed.  _I’m going to strangle the bastard with his own guts._

“Sandor, wait!” Sansa yelled, jumping in front of him, pushing with all of her might against his massive chest as he stalked forward, bringing him to a halt, “Don’t!”  She knew that as soon as Sandor laid a hand on Joffrey that he would use his wealthy family and their connections to have Sandor thrown in jail. 

“Move, Sansa!” Sandor snarled, not making eye contact with her, still focusing on the object of his wrath who was now posturing in front of his buddies.

“That’s right, you giant asshole,” Joffrey taunted, his tiny hands resting on his hips, “Touch me and I’ll have your job.”

“You can shove my job straight up your arse, you greasy little cunt!” Sandor barked as he took two steps forward, pushing Sansa along with him.

“Sandor, stop!” she screamed, her feet sliding uselessly behind her as Sandor pushed forward.

“My uncles own this place!” Joffrey simpered, backing up to hide behind Meryn and his other frat buddy, “Meryn!  Boros!  Stop him!”

As Joffrey hid behind his two self-appointed bodyguards, Tormund and Drogo appeared on the scene, followed closely by Bronn and Margaery.

“C’mon, Sandor,” Tormund begged, “Let me have just one of them.”

“Gimme the fat one,” Drogo said as he cracked his knuckles and pointed to Boros.

“Damn it, Sandor, I can’t leave you alone for a minute!” Bronn huffed as he raced to stand between his best friend, who looked like he was about to commit murder, and Joffrey, holding his finger up in Sandor’s face, “Don’t do it!”

“What is the meaning of this?” the crowd that had gathered to watch the events unfold heard a man shouting from behind them.

As Tyrion Lannister walked through the parting throng of onlookers, he stalked toward Joffrey.  “What exactly do you think you’re doing here, nephew?”

“Nothing,” Joffrey denied, moving out from behind Meryn and Boros, “We were just having a little fun when Sansa hit me.  And then this moron threatened me!”  Joffrey yelled, pointing toward Sandor.

“That’s not true at all!” Sansa cried out as she wrapped her arms around Sandor’s waist, “You threatened _me_ and tried to force me to go with you.”  Looking down at her, wanting nothing more than to grab the little blond fucker and to pound the sorry little shite into oblivion, Sandor instead took a deep breath, enveloping her in his long arms.

“That little bastard grabbed Sandor’s girlfriend, Tyrion,” Tormund chimed in, pointing at Joffrey, “Drogo and I saw the whole thing.  She kicked his sorry ass, though, before we could get over here.”

“You kicked his ass?” Sandor smiled, looking down into Sansa’s crystal blue eyes, the pride swelling his heart to the point it felt like it might burst.  She returned his stare of amazement with a cheesy grin, the fear that she had felt moments ago melting away and being replaced with a sense of complete satisfaction that she had defended herself.

“She fucking toasted him,” Drogo added, nodding his head in agreement, “She moved so fast, it was like watching a movie.”

“He _threatened_ me!” Joffrey shouted at Tyrion, pointing wildly at Sandor again, “Didn’t you hear me?  Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“Yes, you halfwit,” Tyrion replied, looking back over his shoulder to see his employee hugging his girlfriend, “I am.  Your Uncle Jaime is going to drive you home to mommy before you wind up getting dismembered.  Your buddies will be escorted out of here by these two fine gentlemen,” he continued, waving his small hand in Tormund and Drogo’s direction.

Sansa could hear Boros gulp as Drogo waved at him with a cheesy grin.

“You can’t force me to leave!” Joffrey screamed at Tyrion, “No one threatens me!”

“That’s right,” Meryn chimed in, moving to stand beside Joffrey, “No one talks to Joffrey like that and gets away with it, you little imp!”

“I’m not threatening anyone.  I’m just educating my nephew,” Tyrion snarked, motioning to Bronn, who was still poised and ready to intervene should Sandor decide to follow through on his earlier threat, “Bronn, the next time Joffrey’s idiot friend speaks, punch him.”

Tyrion quickly turned back to Joffrey, “That was a threat.  See the difference?”

“All right, show’s over,” Jaime said, finally showing up on the scene, “Joffrey, you’re coming with me,” he said, grabbing Joffrey by the neck and shoving him forward. “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Jaime yelled over his shoulder at Tyrion, “I was tied up.”

“I have no doubt that you were,” Tyrion chuckled, remembering that Jaime had texted him earlier, reminding his younger brother that he would be running late to the club tonight thanks to his date with Brienne.

“Well done, everyone, well done,” Tyrion announced as Tormund and Drogo led Joffrey’s frat brothers out of the club, “Thank you, Bronn, once again for your level-head.”  Turning to Sandor, who was stroking Sansa’s hair, “Clegane, take the rest of the night off.  Take the lovely lady home.  And thank you for not murdering my nephew, although I can assure you that I understand the temptation to do so.”

As Tyrion returned to his office, Bronn and Margaery sat down at the table where just moments ago the show down between Sansa and Joffrey had occurred.  Sandor, not wanting to let go of Sansa, continued to hold her tightly.

“Well, this was one hell of a night,” Bronn laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, “That was the first time I’ve ever seen Sandor _not_ kick someone’s ass for manhandling a lady.  And his lady, at that,” he said as he smiled at his best friend.

“I’ve never had sex bent over crates of beer,” Margaery giggled as Bronn’s head whipped around to stare at her public declaration of their activities in the warehouse.

“And I’ve never beat any one up before,” Sansa said, pulling back slightly to look up into Sandor’s steel-gray eyes, beaming with satisfaction, “How about you, Sandor?  Any firsts for you tonight?”

Sandor thought for a moment before he answered her question.  He had wanted to tell Sansa tonight that he loved her, but after what had just happened, he figured it may be best to wait until a better time.

“Well, let’s see,” he began as he shot Bronn a wicked grin, “This was the first time that Tyrion offered me a raise, which I took, by the way.”  Looking back into Sansa’s eyes, Sandor continued, “And tonight was the first time that I heard someone call you my girlfriend.”

Sansa’s cheeks blushed furiously, her eyes lowering to his chest.  “Am I?” she asked tentatively, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Absolutely,” he grinned, leaning down to capture her lips into a searing kiss, his hands grabbing her roughly by her waist.

“Looks like someone else might need a little trip to the warehouse,” Margaery cooed, nudging Bronn with her elbow.

“Let me take you home,” Sandor rasped as he broke their kiss, looking down at Sansa’s swollen red-stained lips.

“Absolutely,” she replied, pulling out of his grasp and yanking him by his hand, leading him to the rear exit to the place where he always parked his Jeep.  Even though this night wasn’t going as she had originally planned, she wouldn’t change a single moment.

Not one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You go, girl!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on an impromptu date, Sansa enjoys dancing to the music that Jon's band is playing at a local club. Sandor is ready to tell his girlfriend three little words that he has been dying to say all night. And Sansa decides that she is ready to take their relationship to the next level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think will confess their feelings first?

After hopping into his Jeep parked out in the rear lot of King’s Landing, Sandor had assumed that he would drive Sansa back to her apartment where, if he were a lucky man, she would invite him inside and allow him to explore her body and all of its delights like the previous night.  However, his little bird chirped otherwise, telling him that she was too wired after her altercation with Joffrey to go home just yet, and since they inadvertently wound up having a chance to go on another date, thanks to Tyrion granting him the night off, she wondered if Sandor would like to do something together before heading back to her place.

Eager to please her, Sandor acquiesced immediately, asking her if she had something in mind.  Apparently, her older brother, Jon, had a gig tonight at Castle Black, a shitty hole-in-the-wall dive that typically catered to bikers and other members of society who preferred to stay on the fringes.  Quite shocked that she would want to go inside such an establishment, Sandor held his tongue, readily agreeing to taking her there to see her brother’s band live and in person.

Sitting on his bar stool, taking a long drag off his Guinness, Sandor was getting harder by the minute as he watched Sansa dancing by herself to the hard rock music Jon’s band, The Night’s Watch, was cranking out on the small stage just to the left of the bar.  When she had asked him to dance with her, Sandor had out and out refused, reminding her that just because he was an expert in martial arts did _not_ mean that he enjoyed using his body for that form of savagery.  Giving him that damnable pouty look that made him want to pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless, Sansa pretended to be annoyed with him, warning him that since he wouldn’t dance with her, she would just have to take matters into her own hands.

Watching her like a feral animal stalking its prey, Sandor studied her closely.  Her eyes were clamped shut as she writhed to the music, her long copper tresses flowing freely, her mouth slightly parted, her normally pale cheeks flushed from both the exertion of dancing and from being engulfed in a swarm of young ladies gyrating suggestively and shouting praises at the band, obviously trying to grab the attentions of the young men on stage.  The longer he drank in the sight of Sansa in that infernal skin-tight, short sleeve, pale blue dress with the geometric pattern zig-zagging across the silky fabric, the louder his stiffening cock barked at him.

As Sandor continued to drink his beer and gaze upon his girlfriend, Sansa was completely lost to the music Jon’s band was churning out in the dimly lit tavern.  Never one to dance in private, let alone in public, tonight she felt completely emboldened.  Sandor’s self-defense training had given her the confidence to stand up for herself in a way that she had never dreamed possible.  Still on the post Joffrey beat-down high, Sansa felt like she could conquer the world right now if need be.

Smiling to herself as she thought about how quickly her life had changed this past week, she turned and swayed, her shapely hips moving to the beat.  Raising her arms, she shimmied and flowed gracefully like she had never dared imaginable.  And as she twirled quickly, laughing out loud at how free she felt, her eyes opened to witness Sandor’s intense stare raking over her form.

 _It’s all because of him,_ Sansa mused, jiggling just a little extra to make sure her breasts bounced provocatively in his direction, _He’s the reason for all of this.  God, I love him._   She couldn’t help but giggle at the way he almost choked on his beer.

As the driving beat of the song slowed down to its completion, her brother wiped his sweaty curls from his forehead, his guitar pick still in his hand.  Leaning down into the microphone, he spoke to the excited crowd of fans.

“Thanks for coming out to see us tonight,” Jon smiled, adjusting the way his guitar strap hung on his shoulder, “We’re gonna do one more song before our break.  This is a slow one, so grab your lover and come join us out here!”

Hearing Jon’s words, Sansa turned from teasing Sandor to look at her older brother just in time to catch his knowing wink.  _Thank you,_ she mouthed silently at Jon as his nimble fingers began to play the intricate opening riff.  Stalking forward as she once again caught Sandor in her cross-hairs, pushing her way through the crowd of young people preparing to dance together, Sansa approached like a woman on a mission, parking herself directly in front him.  She leaned forward slightly, opening his legs, and moved to stand smack-dab between his thighs.

“Get your rear end out on that dance floor, Clegane,” she demanded, poking him square in the chest just below the last button that was fastened on his charcoal dress shirt, the devilment alight in her sky-blue eyes, “If I can do this, you can too.”

“Well, bugger me if you aren’t a saucy little bird this evening,” Sandor replied, shamelessly looking down her dress, licking his lips at the sight of her décolletage.

Sansa leaned in even closer, making sure that she was giving him a terrific view.  Resting one hand on his muscular thigh as she used her other hand to brush aside his shoulder-length black hair, she slowly eased forward.  So close now that her breasts were grazing his chest, Sansa grinned broadly as she whispered into his good ear, “Come with me now, and you can come with me later.”

“Did I ever tell you that I am a damn fine dancer?” Sandor rasped, virtually jumping off the bar stool and standing to his full height.

“You certainly are a man of many talents,” Sansa laughed, completely proud of her newly developed seductress skill set.  Tugging him toward the dance floor by his large, callused hand, finding a spot on the dance floor near the front of the stage, she turned to face Sandor.

“You have no idea, girl,” he replied, the innuendo practically dripping from his words as he enveloped her into his long arms, resting his hands on her curvy hips.

As their bodies undulated in time with the slow, steady music, Sandor imagined that if there is a heaven, this was it.  Sansa’s beautiful smile, her pale eyes brimming with unsaid emotions, the warmth of her smooth hands as they rested against his broad shoulders…the sensation of standing in her presence was almost too much to bear.  He could feel his heart thumping wildly as three little words were dangerously close to rolling off his tongue.  Sandor knew that it would be only a matter of minutes before he spilled his guts to her, telling her how much he loved her, confessing to her all of his suppressed declarations of worship and adulation.

“I love you.”

Sandor’s eyebrow shot up so fast that he would have bet good money that it had literally flown off his forehead.

_Sansa Stark, the most beautiful, amazing woman on the planet, just told me that she loves me…fuck!_

The shockwave of happiness that overtook him was the single-most intense feeling that he had ever experienced.  Looking down in utter astonishment, Sandor’s eyes darted across her face, taking a mental snapshot of her, knowing full well that he would remember the way she looked at this very moment until the day he died.

“I love you, too,” he replied, virtually in a whisper, grinning from ear-to-ear as Sansa’s eyes widened to match her smile.  As the song slowed down to its completion, Sandor bent down, kissing Sansa with all of the passion that he could muster.

Pulling back to gasp for air, Sansa reached up to gently stroke his scarred cheek, tracing the marred flesh closest to his jawline, “See?  Dancing isn’t all that bad after all, is it?”

Sandor threw his head back in a fit of laughter at her jest, “No, apparently not!”

As the members of The Night’s Watch came off stage to grab a drink and take a short break, Jon approached his sister, “Hey, Sansa!”

“Hey!” she beamed, releasing her grip on Sandor, lowering her arms from around his neck to hold his hand, “You guys were fantastic!  I had no idea your band could rock like that!”

“Thanks,” Jon grinned as he hung his head to the side.  Obviously embarrassed at his little sister’s praise, he looked up through his long, dark lashes at her, running his hand through his damp chin-length curls, “We’ve really been practicing a lot lately.  Adding Edd to the mix was what did it, though.  He’s just awesome on bass.”

As the couple walked back to the bar with Jon, a short, heavy-set young man with a scruffy beard approached them.

“Hey, Jon,” his drummer asked, a huge, toothy grin spreading across his round face as he stared at Sansa, “Is this your sister?”

Sansa could feel Sandor’s hand grip hers just a little tighter as the young man beamed at her like an awe-struck idiot.  _Oh, he’s jealous!  That’s too funny!_

“You must be Sam,” Sansa smiled in return, holding out her free hand for Sam to shake.  “Jon has told me all about you.”  She turned to look over at Sandor who was sitting down on the stool next to Jon.  Smirking at the way Sandor’s hard stare at Jon’s friend betrayed his total annoyance, she introduced Sam, “This is my boyfriend, Sandor.”

“Hey, Sandor,” Sam grinned, offering his chubby hand for Sandor to shake.

Not at all pleased with the overweight little man’s eyes raking over Sansa once again, Sandor gritted his teeth, deciding on the spot to suck it up for her sake and to not jump into the fat man’s shite tonight.  _You really are getting soft, Clegane,_ he mused to himself, _it appears that Bronn may be right about something else._

“Hey,” Sandor huffed, gripping Sam’s meaty paw tighter than was necessary.  He couldn’t help but smirk when Sam winced at the grip Sandor put forth on the handshake.

“You guys staying around awhile?” Jon asked, taking a drink from his beer mug.

“Actually,” Sansa grinned, glancing sideways at Sandor as she spoke, “We were just about to head out.”  Turning to face Sandor, she shot him a wink, “You ready?”

“Always,” he smirked as she waved good-bye to her brother and his bandmates, leading him by his hand out the front door of the building.  Once standing beside his Jeep, Sandor moved to help her climb inside when she suddenly spun around to face him.

“You love me, do you?” Sansa purred, her small hand raising to rest on his chest right over his heart.

“Aye, I do,” he answered, placing his own hand over hers.  “It’s yours, by the way,” Sandor continued, nodding his head toward their joined hands, “Has been since the first time I laid eyes on you, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, since you _never_ lie,” Sansa teased, cocking her head to the side, her auburn hair falling slightly across one side of her face as she stared up at him intently, “I’d say that I am one lucky lady.”  Standing on her tip toes, she placed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips, “Take me home.”

“Are you planning to invite me inside this time as well?” Sandor asked, the hope in his voice quite obvious.  Reaching up to brush aside the stray lock of hair dangling in front of her face, he felt like his heart just might implode if she allowed him to engage in some rather pleasurable activities with her tonight.

Sansa was breathing heavy, her bright blue eyes alight as she tried to process how badly she wanted to take the next step in their relationship.

Sandor was such an odd blend of raunchy sailor and proper gentlemen.  He could perform various lascivious acts on her privates one minute, then sing to her at her request an old Gaelic hymn that his grandmother had taught him while laying together in the darkness of her bedroom.  Since meeting Sandor, she had felt things she had never felt in her young adult life.  She felt powerful, sexy, and adored.   _Good Lord but I want him…I think I’m ready.  Am I ready?  Yes, I’m ready!_

“I was thinking about it, big boy,” she replied, her voice unexpectedly deeper than normal.  She leaned back against his Jeep and pulled him toward her by the opened neckline of his dress shirt with both hands.

When she began kissing and biting softly on his neck, Sandor was quite certain that his knees were about to buckle.  _Bloody hell!_ Caging her in with his arms, he braced himself against the doorframe of his Jeep, his eyes screwed shut tightly as her mouth moved higher and higher until as quickly as she had started, she stopped.  When Sandor opened his eyes, he saw Sansa worrying her bottom lip in that damn sexy way she did when she was nervous.

“Actually,” Sansa began slowly, her eyes focused on the patch of dark chest hair peeking out at her from Sandor’s unbuttoned neckline, “I was thinking that maybe…I was hoping that you and I…that we could…you know?”  She raised her eyes to meet his confused expression, willing him to understand that she wanted him to make love to her tonight.  For the life of her, she couldn’t seem to manage to spit out the words even though she was having no trouble pawing at him like the horny, wanton creature she had become.

“Sansa…” Sandor questioned as his gray eyes narrowed, studying her face, the wheels inside his brain rapidly processing what she was implying, “Are you asking what I think you’re asking of me?”

“Um, I…well, maybe?” she grinned shyly as her cheeks reddened a deep shade of crimson.

“Well, fuck me,” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as his hands jumped from holding onto his Jeep to grab a hold of her by her waist, pulling her flush with his body.

Sansa once again stood on the tips of her toes, planting an extremely quick, chaste kiss on his lips.  Punctuating her very lady-like expression of affection, she followed her kiss by cupping him firmly through his black dress pants, making a show of licking her lips in anticipation of tasting him, “Yup,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ for extra emphasis, “That’s the plan.”

With that admission, Sandor abruptly scooped Sansa up into his arms, unceremoniously plopping her down into the passenger seat of his Jeep as she yelped in surprise.  Leaning in to capture her lips in an impassioned kiss, he jerked away swiftly, drinking in the sight of his little bird’s chest heaving slightly and her icy blue eyes blown wide with desire.

“Look who’s come out to play,” he rasped, smiling as he pulled his lower lip under the top row of his teeth while staring down at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy...


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving to Sansa's apartment, Sandor wonders if she is having second thoughts. Sansa, however, is more than ready. She's so ready, in fact, that it takes Sandor's fortitude to slow things down considerably once they arrive at her place. And just as things are getting good, something happens to make Sandor freak out momentarily. With Sansa's proclamation, though, all is good. Really good. Like, _really_ good!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks! The moment of truth! Get comfy and enjoy the sometimes comical, sometimes tender, and definitely passionate wild ride as Sansa and Sandor finally cross the finish line!

The ride to Sansa’s apartment from Castle Black was without a doubt the longest fucking 20 minutes of Sandor’s life.

Almost as soon as he had jumped into his Jeep, shoving the gears into drive faster than any race car driver ever dreamed, an awkward silence rapidly engulfed the two of them as they departed from the club in route to her apartment.  The lack of conversation on the part of his normally chatty girlfriend was unnerving, really.

Sandor was no idiot.  Although he had no prior experience bedding a virgin, he knew without a doubt that Sansa would be nervous tonight.  Sure, they had fooled around already.  They had seen each other naked and had placed their hands and mouths in the most private of their nether regions.  Yet, in a manner of minutes, his little bird would have her extremely excited boyfriend parked right between her legs with the intention of shoving himself into her unsullied womanhood.  Fuck, how could she not be a little scared?  Whether she loved him or not, it made perfect sense that Sansa might be a bit apprehensive now that they weren’t in the middle of groping or kissing each other.

Although Sandor understood this rationally, her utter silence was starting to make him doubt whether Sansa really wanted the whole kit and caboodle tonight after all.  And when Sansa had decided to turn on the radio, almost jumping right out of her car seat when she landed on “Let’s Get Physical” on the oldies channel, his flicker of doubt put Sandor at war with himself.

Catching a glimpse at her out of the corner of his eye as he turned down the street to her apartment complex, he could see her nervously worrying her bottom lip and twiddling with her auburn tresses while blindly staring ahead.  At that moment, Sandor could’ve sworn that he could feel an angel and the devil sitting on his opposing shoulders just like he had seen in some stupid cartoon one Saturday morning while a lad living in his grandmother’s home.

 _“Stop!”_ the angel was shouting loudly at him in his good ear, _“She’s still a virgin!  Don’t rush her!  Look at her; she’s not ready!”_ The campaign to keep Sansa’s virtue intact was being viciously attacked by the devil perched on the other side who was screaming, _“Take her!  She’s ready!  She asked you for it, remember?”_

Unbeknownst to Sandor who sat stewing in his passions and self-doubt, Sansa remained completely clueless that her total silence during the car ride was screaming that she now lacked a desire to follow through on her earlier request.  Ironically, she most assuredly wanted to make love with Sandor tonight.  _Hell_ yes.

Sansa’s lack of conversation was her way of desperately trying to keep her act together.  She wasn’t talking to him out of her fear that she may demand that he pull his damn Jeep over so she could hike her dress up and ride him right there on the side of the road.  It also didn’t help that her head was swimming as they drove to her apartment, her brain drowning in an ocean of uncertainty as to what she should be doing at the moment.  _Should I be touching him now?_ Sansa wondered to herself, _Or am I supposed to wait?  When we get there, do we go straight to it?  Do I wait for him to lead?  God, what if I do something stupid?_

Lost in her thoughts about what to do when she arrived at her place, Sansa didn’t even realize that they were turning into her apartment complex until Sandor cleared his throat.

“Sansa,” he began while pulling into a space in front of her building, turning off the ignition and turning to face her, “If you’re having second thoughts about asking me to come inside, I’ll understand.”

“No!” she shouted forcefully in reply, so loud in fact that she made Sandor’s head jerk back like the Jeep had just been rear-ended.  Her hand leapt from her hair-twiddling to cover her mouth, “Sandor, I’m sorry I yelled at you!  I…I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright,” Sandor chuckled as he lightly scratched his full, dark beard, “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to go through with anything you don’t want to do.”  He gingerly reached across to take Sansa’s hand in his, and to his relief, she squeezed his in return.

“It’s not that at all,” she said, her head tilted to the side as she assessed how patient her not-normally patient boyfriend really was, “I’m just…well, I’m just a little nervous.”

“You don’t say?” Sandor teased, moving her hand to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Sansa smiled widely in return.  “OK, I’m really nervous.”  Leaning toward him, she reached out to run her hands through his long, black hair.  “But that does _not_ mean that I don’t want to have sex with you, Sandor.”

Just hearing the words “sex” and “Sandor” juxtaposed in the same sentence was enough to make him groan with want.  “You know we can wait,” he added, “As long as you want.  I’m in no rush, little bird.”

For some odd reason, hearing Sandor tell her that he would wait for her without question, that he would put her needs and desires first, sent her hormones into over-drive.  Someone just threw gasoline on the grease fire because now she was good and stoked.

“No rush, hmm?” Sansa purred, her inner temptress bursting forth from its previously locked constraints.  She reached out to stroke his thigh, leaning into her touch.  “I can take as much time as I want?” she asked, her tongue languidly tracing her bottom lip.  Slowly, slowly downward her hand travelled until it rested right between his legs, stroking through his dress slacks his hardened manhood now standing at attention, “And you’d be OK with that?”

Feeling her small hand massage and squeeze his aching cock caused him to grit his teeth to keep himself in check.  Sandor narrowed his gray eyes at her, trying to figure out just what his little bird really wanted.  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not nice to tease a dog?” he growled as his massive hand joined hers in her exploration of just how hard he was.

“I’m not teasing, big boy,” she retorted smugly, her voice lilting and deep.  She could feel her blood boiling, the steam percolating right under the surface of her skin.  Just hearing his voice was making her wet.  “I’ve been sitting over here the whole car ride, trying to keep my act together so I don’t unzip your pants and jump you right here in this Jeep.”

That did it.  Hearing that declaration fly out of her pretty plump lips sealed the deal.  Sandor internally barked at the angel perched on his shoulder to “fuck off.”

“Then get your pert little ass inside that apartment,” Sandor rasped, batting her hand away from his crotch, rapidly unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of his Jeep.  Rounding the front end faster than seemed possible, he jerked open the passenger door to escort Sansa into her apartment.

He was barely able to wrench the door ajar before Sansa sprang out of his Jeep, pouncing on him like a bird on a worm.  They kissed and groped each other all the way up the sidewalk, battling for control the entire way.  Pinning Sansa against the front door of her apartment as she desperately tried to unlock it, Sandor ground his rock-hard erection into her backside, pushing her long, fiery mane aside to nibble at the base of her neck.

“God, Sandor!” Sansa moaned as she fumbled with her house keys, pushing backward to grind her ass into his erection.  Finally able to shove the door wide open, they broke apart momentarily.  Tossing her keys and purse onto the floor while toeing off her heels, she spun to face him as he slammed the front door shut with his foot.  “I want you so badly!”  she panted, desperate to have his hands on her again.  _You’re really going through with this,_ Sansa shrieked inside her brain, _You’re going to have sex with Sandor!_

“I want you, too,” he groaned, his rational brain no longer battling his lower region for dominance over his actions.  Sandor eyeballed Sansa from head to toe, watching her ample breasts heaving with her ragged breaths.  _You’re one lucky bastard, Clegane._

Rushing forward before Sandor could make the next move, Sansa struck first.  Catching him completely off guard, she literally jumped into his arms, wrapping her lithe arms around his neck.  As a stunned Sandor grabbed on tightly to her waist, he leaned back against her front door.  Sansa shoved his shoulder-length black hair aside, lowering her mouth to resume her assault on his neck, kissing and nipping the flesh that she could reach just as she had done while standing in the parking lot of Castle Black.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his eyes slamming shut at the sensation, “You’re driving me mad, woman!”  His hands squeezed her ass as he began to grind his erection into her stomach.

Sansa felt like she was about to burst into flames.  She ceased her ministrations, rearing back to grab Sandor’s shirt, urgently undoing the buttons.  Her breaths were coming in short bursts.  Her auburn hair was a wild mess, her lips swollen and reddened, and her pupils were so huge that he could barely see any blue.  When she finished opening his shirt completely, she hurriedly yanked it from his pants, moving quickly to grasp his belt buckle in her hands.

“Sansa, wait!” he laughed, loosening his vice-like grip from around her waist to clasp her hands in his, “Let’s slow it down, little bird.  This is going to be your first time.  Don’t you want it to be like something out of one of your romance books?”

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip as she looked up into his steel gray eyes.  The thought about making love in that way hadn’t even crossed her mind since Sandor had plopped her into his Jeep to bring her home.  All she could think about since then was how she could divest Sandor of his clothing and push him onto her bed fast enough to mount him and ride him into the sunset.

“Take it slowly?” she muttered her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, “But I thought you’d want to…you know…”

“I’d want to what?” he smirked as he stroked her fiery tresses away from her face.

“Have your way with me,” she grinned, “Ravish me properly.  You know, like you told me after our date at Highgarden.”

Sandor chuckled darkly at being reminded of his words.  “Trust me, I would love nothing more than to bend you over that couch right there and take you fast and hard,” he joked, “But your first time should be special, not just a quick fuck like some…Sansa, are you even listening to me?”

Sansa’s eyes were blown wide as she stared blankly at him, “You lost me at ‘bend you over.’”

“Go,” Sandor ordered, still laughing at how wanton his little bird was, “Get yourself together.  Do whatever it is that women want to do to make things romantic.  I’ll wait here and calm the fuck down myself.”

Sansa smiled so widely at him that her cheeks hurt, “Sandor Clegane!  You’re a closet romantic at heart!  I just knew it!  Oh, you’d better be careful.  You don’t want this secret getting out, now do you?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he replied as she laughed, “Or my reputation will be ruined.”

Planting a quick kiss on his lips, Sansa jogged back to her bedroom, giddy and horny all at once. 

While Sandor waited in her living room, Sansa ran through her mental checklist that Margaery had given her earlier in the day should the moment of truth ever arrive.  Unzipping her dress, yanking it off and tossing onto the floor by her bathroom door, she threw on an extremely short and silky, lacey pink nightie that Margaery had loaned her this afternoon.  _Sexy lingerie…check._ Rummaging through a storage box in her closet floor, she grabbed every candle that she could find, lighting at least thirty of them all around her bedroom to help set the mood.  _Mood lighting…check._ Then Sansa turned on her iPod, calling up Pandora to find a playlist of sensual songs to play as background music.  _Seduction music…check._   Finally, Sansa turned down the bed, spritzing it with some perfume from her vanity to add the final touch.  That last little step was her idea.  _Check._

Completely pleased with the result, Sansa sauntered down the hallway, slightly leaning on the wall just outside the living room, “So, are you ready?”

Sandor’s head turned from where he sat on her couch.  _Bugger me sideways!_   His eyes raked over her form, drinking in the sight of her breasts and long legs on display in that infernal piece of pale pink cloth.  The slinky little silky thing was enough to drive a man insane with desire.  Unable to speak while staring at the sight before him, Sandor simply rose from his seat on the couch, stalking toward her, reaching out to take the hand she offered.  He followed her down the hallway to her bedroom, willing himself to heel and to not throw her down on her bed and take her immediately. _Slow…take it slowly…get her ready first…take it slowly…_

As Sansa opened the door to her bedroom, she allowed Sandor to enter first.  When she closed the door to her bedroom and turned to continue her seduction, her smile promptly faded.  Sandor stood frozen in the middle of her bedroom, completely surrounded by the soft, flickering candlelight.  His eyes were blown wide, his breathing was coming in quick bursts, and he was slowly backing up toward the bedroom door.

“Sandor, what’s wrong?” Sansa asked, completely confused by his reaction.

“The candles…I…I don’t really like fire, little bird,” was all he managed to tell her.

 _What?  Oh, no!  You idiot!_  Sansa couldn’t believe that in her quest to fulfill her desire to have a romantic night with her boyfriend, she had lit up the damn bedroom like Yankee Stadium during a night game.  She had forgotten one minor detail, however.

Sandor had an abnormal fear of fire, thanks to his torture at the hands of his older brother two decades ago.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I forgot!” she yelped as she dashed around the room, blowing the candles out in a frenzy, “I’m so stupid!” 

“You’re not stupid, love,” Sandor said as he took a deep breath and leaned back against the bedroom door, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”  _Act like a man, for fuck’s sake, and not like some scared little child!_  “I’m almost 28 years old, and I’m scared of fire like some fucking toddler,” he jested, trying to alleviate the situation, “Who’s the stupid one, eh?”  Blowing out the last few candles, Sansa hastily turned on the small purple lamp on her nightstand so they were not standing in complete darkness.

Mortified at his over-the-top reaction at her attempt at romance, Sandor crumpled to the floor, sliding his back down the length of the door until he landed on his ass.  Resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward, he lowered his head in shame, his long, wavy hair shrouding his face like a curtain.

Sansa could tell that he was trying to regain control of himself.  Carefully she sat beside him, curling her legs up beneath her while gently rubbing tiny circles on his taught back with her fingernails.  As she stroked and scratched, she could feel his muscles slightly relax and his heavy breathing start to even out.

“I guess I should go,” Sandor said abruptly, sitting up straight, refusing to look at her, “Nothing like a man turning into an overgrown child to kill the mood, right?”

“But I don’t want you to leave, Sandor,” Sansa said, trying to soothe him as she scooted her body flush with his and wrapped one arm around his broad shoulders, “Why do you think you should leave?”

“Because I’m a broken man,” he began.  His eyes slowly raised from staring at his lap to meet her puzzled face.  “Look at me,” Sandor muttered quietly, turning his head and pulling his hair back to give her an unhindered view of his scars, “You should find yourself a pretty man who can speak pretty words to you like you deserve.  And I’m a bloody wanker to think that I would ever deserve a woman like you.”  And with that, he stood as if he meant to walk right out the door.

“The _hell_ you are!” Sansa yelled, startling both Sandor as well as herself.  Immobilized by her outburst, he stood frozen in place like a statue, watching her intently.  Rising from the bedroom floor, she straightened herself to her full height, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her fists hanging down by her sides.  Her face was flushed and her breathing was rapid.  She was trembling with anger at whatever tortures he had endured during his screwed-up childhood; with sadness that he thought so little of himself that he imagined that he did not deserve her; and with fear that he was going to let his insecurities destroy their chance at happiness.

“You are so _not_ leaving,” Sansa began, “I know that you have scars.  So _what_?  And I know that your family was fucked up and that you were treated like shit.  But damnit, Sandor, quit letting your scars and your childhood define you!  I don’t give a _fuck_ about those scars.  Those on your face or those you carry inside of you.  I love _all_ of you.  All.  Of.  You.  You hearing me?”

Sandor’s eyes practically bugged out of his head with that barrage, but Sansa was on a roll, spurned onward by the shot of adrenaline pumping through her body.

“So please do me a favor, would you?  Stop walking around feeling sorry for yourself and thinking that no one wants to be with you.  _I_ want to be with you.  I _love_ you.  Fuck the rest of them!”

Before she knew what hit her, Sandor had grabbed her by the wrist and had yanked her to him.  Sansa let out a small squeak as his mouth descended upon hers, kissing her fiercely.  Determined to meet his intensity, she swiped his bottom lip with her tongue, insisting that he let her in, tilting her head to deepen their kiss.

His hands were everywhere seemingly all at once, squeezing her ass, running up her sides, ghosting across her breasts, tugging roughly in her hair.  She stood on her toes, feverishly wrapping her arms around his neck.  Lifting her by her thighs but refusing to break their kiss, he stumbled blindly toward her bed, tripping over the leg of the chair sitting near her closet, which caused him to fall forward, his full weight landing on top of her.

“Damnit, Sansa, did I hurt you?” he worriedly asked her as he pushed himself up to look down at her face.

The hilarity of the entire night since Sandor arrived hit Sansa like a smack across the face.  All of her romantic notions of how she planned to make love to him for the first time were fucked up royally, yet she could not help feeling like everything that had happened since she opened that front door was _exactly_ like it should have been.

“I’m fine,” she giggled, reaching up to stroke his scarred cheek with her hand.  Her other hand raised to run through his wavy locks and then down his chest.  She rested her hand on his heart, feeling how fast it pounded inside him.  “And you?”

“I’m good,” he smirked back at her as his hands began to wander under her extremely short nightie and up her thighs.  When his hands discovered that she was sporting a thong, he squeezed her ass and groaned, “You’re _definitely_ trying to kill me.”

“Yup.  So am.”  Sansa moved to lower the thin straps of nightie, exposing her breasts to his gaze.  Gingerly, he lowered his mouth to taste her creamy flesh, placing light kisses around their curves, running his tongue along the divide between her breasts and over to one of her nipples.  He circled his tongue around the hardened peek before gently sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned, wantonly raising her hips, feeling his manhood stiff against her thigh.

Suddenly Sandor stopped his attentions, raising his head to look at her, his eyes narrowed and his hair falling over half of his face.  He studied her pink lips, reddened by their kisses.  He watched her hooded eyes staring lovingly back at him, her breaths coming in deep pants.

“You love me?” he asked nonchalantly, pulling her thong away from her core, slipping one finger between her wet folds.

“Yes, I love you,” she smiled.   Her eyes never left his as he began to draw his finger languidly in and out of her.  She reached up to brush his hair out of his face.

“I love you, too, Sansa” he said sweetly, his heart about to burst with joy, as he bent down to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Make love to me,” she requested as she licked her lips.  She brought her thigh resting between his legs up to slowly rub his cock that was straining to be freed from the confines of his dress pants, “I need you.”

Sandor’s eyes momentarily shut as he tried to reign in his emotions.  He opened his eyes in a daze, the fog of lust starting to cloud his judgment.  Staring down at her beautiful face, he reached up to stroke her fiery mane once again.  “I don’t want to hurt you, little bird.  It will probably hurt when I take you.”

“Please,” she asked softly, cupping his face in her hands.  “I want to do this with you.”

Sandor did not speak another word as he reared back onto his knees, lifting her with him.  He gently grasped the hem of her nightie, pulling it over her head and tossing it to her bedroom floor.  While he laid her back down on the bed, he hooked his fingers in the extraordinarily thin waistband of her thong, slowly pulling it down her legs.

Laid bare beneath him, Sandor felt like he could not breathe.  She was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.  Smart, witty, sexy, and…in love with him.  Nervous as a green boy about to mount a girl for the first time, he yanked his unbuttoned dress shirt off and threw it to the floor where it landed on top of the growing pile of their discarded clothing.  As he reached to undo his belt, Sansa grabbed his large hands.

“Oh, no, that’s _my_ job, sir,” she demanded playfully as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“I’m no sir,” he jested back at her, widening his arms as if offering himself up to her.

Sansa laughed, undoing his belt.  She unzipped his pants, giving him a light shove on his hairy chest, hoping he would get the hint and stand up to get those damn pants off.  He obeyed willingly, reaching down to pull off his dress shoes.  He shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles, bending over to take them off the rest of the way.  Standing to his full, impressive height, he stood before her completely naked, his stiff cock already weeping with his desire to have her.

“God, you’re just so huge,” Sansa said as she wondered out loud just how in the world all of _that_ was going to actually fit inside of her.

Sandor smirked but opted to let her comment go just this once.  Instead, he grabbed her by the ankles, tugging her quickly to the bottom of her bed.  “Let me get you ready, love,” he told her while dropping to his knees, “Better for you if you come first.”

His mouth lowered to her core, his tongue sweeping through her damp folds.  Sansa’s hips raised up off the bed, her eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.  “Eager, are we?” she heard him laugh.  As he licked and sucked her clit while pumping his finger deep inside her, Sansa felt the heat coiling deep inside her gut. 

“God, Sandor, that feels so good,” she moaned when he inserted another finger and curved them to find her sweet spot.  Chasing her release, she shamelessly rocked her hips into his face, her hands wedged tightly in his hair.  Sandor removed his fingers and mouth briefly to grab her legs, pushing her thighs apart to spread her wider for him.  He held onto her thighs tightly, aggressively descending upon her cunny with his mouth once again, relentlessly working her pearl until she came.

“Please, oh, oh, God!” she screamed as she peaked, her hands grabbing the sheets tightly and her back arching off the bed.  She could not open her eyes yet, her body going completely limp.  She could feel Sandor releasing her legs and heard him chuckling darkly.  When she opened her eyes, he was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her intently.

“Tell me to stop at any time, and I will,” he promised her as he reached out to stroke her thigh.

“OK,” was all she could think to say in reply.  She was absolutely certain that she wanted him, yet as the moment of truth arrived, she could feel a glimmer of fear still lurking in the back of her brain.

“I need to grab my wallet…” he said as he started to reach down to the floor to rifle through his pants pocket.

“I, uh…I got one from Margaery,” she lied, watching his head jerk up to stare at her.  Wrinkling her nose at the way that sounded, she opted to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help her God.“Actually, Margaery took me…shopping…so there’s a box in my nightstand.”

“Remind me to send the lass some flowers tomorrow,” he grinned as he leaned over to open the nightstand drawer.  “Extra-large?” he asked, his eyebrow raised in challenge as his mouth curved into a devious grin.

“Yeah, um…I kind of, well, wouldn’t you agree?” she smiled, biting her lower lip.

Sandor could not help but laugh out loud before ripping the foil packet with his teeth, tossing the wrapper onto the nightstand.  Sansa watched in awe as he rolled the condom onto his long, thick shaft.  _Jesus, I’m really going to do this._

“Are you _sure_ , little bird?” Sandor asked cautiously as he straddled her, placing one hand on either side of her shoulders.  He wanted her desperately, to take her and truly make her his, more than anything he had ever wanted in his entire miserable life.  Yet all she had to do was say the word, and he would stop.  _Don’t hurt her, Clegane.  Take it slowly…take it slowly._

“I’m sure,” she stated boldly, wondering if he could tell she was still a little nervous.

And with that proclamation, Sandor nudged her legs apart with his knee, carefully lowering himself between her legs.  Supporting his weight on one arm, he took his cock in the other hand, lining himself up at her entrance.  When he slowly pushed forward inside of her, the tip of his cock entering her cunny, their eyes locked.  Sansa’s eyes widened, her hands quickly grabbing his upper arms at the sudden foreign intrusion.

“Sansa, love, do you want me to stop?” he groaned as he quickly scanned her face for any sign that she wanted him to get the hell off of her.  _Bloody, buggering fuck, she’s so damn tight!_

She shook her head, “No, no, just…give me a minute,” she pleaded as her eyes shut.  She could feel him inside of her, ridiculously stretching her already, and he hadn’t even gotten in all the way!  She remembered Margaery’s warning from earlier today, _“It might hurt at first, but the pain will ease up once you get used to him being inside you.  Relax and the pain will be over before you know it!”_

“Move, please move,” she insisted.  Reaching up to stroke his scarred cheek, she could see the look of worry etched across his face.  She smiled bravely, looking him squarely in the eyes and taking a deep breath, “I’m fine…I’ll be fine…just…move.”

Nodding his head, Sandor slowly pushed forward, watching every nuance of her face as he finally bottomed out inside of her.  The feeling of her virginal cunny slowly swallowing him and squeezing him felt so fucking amazing that he thought he might come on the spot.  _Think of something else!  Bronn naked…Jaime naked…_

Sansa’s eyes were wide in wonderment at the completely new feeling of having Sandor fully seated inside of her.  Her nose wrinkled up as the pain had increased, but by the time she felt his balls touching her between her legs, she had felt the pain start to dwindle.  The burning sensation was still intense, but it was not as horrible as she had imagined it would be.  She reached up to push his long, black hair out of his eyes, tacitly reassuring him that she truly wanted this.

Just as slowly as he had entered her, he began to pull back out, thrusting as mercifully as he could possibly endure.  “Sansa, I’m not sure how long I can last,” he moaned, the wonderful feeling of making love to his beautiful little bird completely consuming him.

“We can do it again, you know, if you want to,” she said, the question obvious in her voice.

“Hell, _yes_ , I want to do this again.  If you’ll let me, that is,” he smiled at her.  He raised up on his arms to look down between his legs, watching himself disappear over and over again inside her glorious cunny.  “Bugger me, you are so fucking _tight!”_

Sansa knew that he must be trying to pay her a compliment, but the ridiculousness of that statement made her giggle, just a little.  Sandor was too far gone to care if she laughed, though.  His body was busy reacting to the waves of his own desire that were about to drown him.  Lowering his head to rest his forehead on her shoulder, the pace of his thrusting increased steadily.

Sansa had no idea that watching Sandor during sex could be just as arousing as having sex with him.  He was so incredibly well-built, so rugged and tough.  Listening to his moans and grunts were titillating in and of themselves.  Sansa marveled at just how amazing the whole act of being with the man she loved really was.

Thinking about how much she liked watching Sandor come undone made her remember Margaery’s warning that Sansa herself may not come during their first time making love.  Her best friend had counseled that practice makes perfect, so to speak.  Sansa didn’t give a damn right now if she peaked again or not.  She was perfectly content to figure out all of that later.

Oh, and Margaery also had told her that men like Bronn and Sandor love dirty talk in bed, so Sansa figured she should probably try that tonight at least once, too.

“Take me like you want to take me,” Sansa whispered in his ear, “You feel so good, lover.”  She could hear him muttering unintelligible curses and praises into her neck.  _It’s working!_ “I love having you inside me,” she added.  That little comment caused him to groan.  _He loves this stuff!_ Pleased with her handiwork, Sansa let the floodgates wide open.  “Fuck me as hard as you want, baby.”  _Wait, did I just say that out loud?_

“Seven hells, woman!” Sandor hissed as his head shot up, going completely still, looking her directly in the eyes, “Keep talking like that, and I just might _take you_ instead of trying so damn hard to go easy on you!”

Sansa could not contain the smirk that ran across her face, “Maybe I _want_ to be taken,” she challenged.

Sandor’s eyes widened so far that she was sure they would pop right out of their sockets.  Without saying a word or breaking his stare, he started thrusting harder and faster, grabbing her by her hips and pulling her to him in time with his movements.

The new sudden onslaught of sensations overtook her quickly, causing Sansa to roll her eyes into the back of her head and to clutch Sandor’s back so tightly she was certain that she was leaving marks.  She could feel every damn inch of him entering her and then exiting her, over and over again.  As he panted and writhed above her, what little discomfort that was left magically evaporated, leaving behind a downright pleasurable sensation.  His cock was hitting that same spot that he loved to tease with his fingers, and every time he tweaked it, she saw stars.

“Sandor, I…that feels…yes, oh God!” she muttered as she opened her eyes.  Sandor was staring at her, his bottom lip under his teeth, making that highly adorable face he always makes when he is nervous.  “Please, Sandor, don’t stop…just…keep doing that.”

Reaching down to grab her legs, Sandor yanked them up in the air, wrapping them around his waist.  Catching on quickly, Sansa locked her ankles securely, holding on for dear life, continuing to grasp his back for some sort of leverage.  It was when he reached down to rub the little over-stimulated bud between her legs while thrusting into her that she lost control.

“Sandor, fuck!” she screamed, her nails digging deep into his lower back, her eyes slamming shut as her orgasm enveloped her.

“Look at me!” Sandor demanded.  Sansa opened her eyes just in time to see his face contort with the extreme pleasure of his own orgasm overtaking him.  He haphazardly thrusted into her a few more times as his eyes closed and his mouth opened.  The intensity of his completion was like nothing he had ever experienced, and he knew deep down it was because he had never loved any of the women he had been with in his past.

No longer able to support his full weight, Sandor pulled out, lowering himself to rest beside her before reaching out to pull her to him.  Sansa snuggled as close to him as she could, lying with her head on his chest and her hands lightly playing with the thick, dark hairs covering his chest and stomach.

They lay there in Sansa’s bed in complete silence, each one basking in the moment yet not exactly sure what to say.  She thought about what the impact of giving herself completely to him meant for their relationship, not to mention their new declarations of love tonight.

Oh, and she really wanted to do that again.  Like, _soon_.

“Sandor?” she chirped.

“Yes?” he said sluggishly.

“When can we do that again?  I mean, how long does it take for you to…you know…wake up?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“If I didn’t think you were trying to kill me before, I damn well know it now!” he laughed, placing a quick kiss on her lips.  He rolled out of the bed to dispose of the sticky condom.  “Let me go clean up, and we’ll see about it, yeah?”

As she watched him disappear behind her bathroom door, Sansa could not help but feel a bit smug.  She stretched her arms like a cat waking from a nap, the slight soreness she felt between her legs not discouraging her from wanting to repeat the previous activity again.

 _There’s definitely a first time for everything,_ she grinned openly as Sandor walked back into her bedroom, naked as the day he was born, watching him lick his lips in anticipation of having her again any minute,  _And there’s so going to be a second time, too.  And a third…and a fourth…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think?


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After enduring a day in the home of the Stark clan, Sandor reflects upon what it was like to meet Sansa's family. And then he has to endure a line of questioning by the pater familias himself while Sansa and her siblings enjoy a round of football, not soccer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to play a little game of "Meet the Family!"

Sitting outside in the cool evening air, slumped into the only oversized Adirondack chair on the huge, wrap-around deck overlooking the inground pool and gardens, Sandor was hiding, desperate to have one measly scrap of alone time.  Since arriving at the home of Ned and Catelyn Stark several hours ago to help celebrate Ned’s birthday, Sandor had succumbed to the various and painful tortures associated with being the new boyfriend on the scene.

Upon arriving at the Stark mansion with Sansa, who swore that her family was warned to be on their best behavior, he was subjected immediately to the cursory sizing up session by the pater familias himself.  The forceful handshake that Ned gave Sandor when first meeting brought a terribly smug smirk to Sandor’s face.  He knew full well that Sansa’s dad was posturing to make his alpha-male status of the pack quite clear.  Fortunately for Ned, Sandor knew that returning the handshake with the same amount of vigor would send Ned to the hospital, so he let the older man win this round.

_Starks, one; Clegane, zero._

Then came the second contestant entering the sizing up competition, this time Sansa’s eldest brother and self-appointed knight in shining armor, Robb Stark.  Sandor did his best to be cordial upon first being introduced to him, but the handsome young wolf’s sneer and tone of utter distaste told Sandor all he needed to know.  _The little shite thinks I’m not good enough for his sister.  Bugger that one, then._   If it had not been for the pleading look in Sansa’s eyes, silently begging Sandor not to start anything, he definitely would have, right there on the spot.

_Starks, two; Clegane, zero._

By far the best and most colorful reaction of the day went to Catelyn Stark.  Upon entering with Sansa into the massive, modern-design kitchen where Catelyn was busy chopping vegetables for some exotic, high-brow salad she was serving at the party, Sansa’s mother literally gasped in shock when she laid eyes upon him.  Although she quickly replaced the look of horror with a huge, fake smile, Catelyn tried her best to act gracious, yet failing to be discreet in her attempt to take in all of his scars and his humungous size without him noticing it.  At least Ned had the decency to glare at Catelyn to let her know she was being quite obvious in her lack of decorum.

_Starks, three; Clegane, zero._

Next came Sandor’s time to say hello to Arya, the only actual Stark sibling, ironically, with whom he had something in common:  a foul-mouth and no filter.  She was outside with her older brother, Jon, sparring with wooden swords.  Apparently, the young wolf-bitch thought herself quite handy with a blade, having taken medieval sword fighting classes for several months.  Sansa squeezed his hand hard when he had laughed out loud upon hearing the name of Arya’s instructor ( _“Syrio Florel?  You have to be fucking with me.  He sounds like a perfume, not a master swordsman.”)_.  Obviously not amused, Arya screamed at Sandor, charging at him with her wooden training sword, intent on whacking him with it.  Thankfully, Sandor’s years of marital arts training kicked in, quickly dodging her blow and yanking the piece of wood right out of her hands.  After Arya stormed off into the house, Sansa could only shake her head in frustration.  At least Jon appreciated the moment, clapping and yelling “Bravo!” at him.

_Starks, three; Clegane, one._

The most exhausting part of his day, however, was being inundated with hours of questions from Sansa’s youngest siblings, Bran and Rickon.  Both young men were relentless in their assault.  Their favorite topics included Sandor’s height ( _“Yes, Bran, I’m really 6’8”_ ), his Scottish heritage, ( _“Boys, what I wear under my kilt is for me to know and for you to find out”_ ), and whether he was as skilled in martial arts as Sansa had claimed ( _“Rickon, for the last time, yes, I actually can break concrete.  Any idiot can do it with the right training.  Don’t you have another video game to go play?”)_.  It felt like every time he thought they finally had run out of questions, they managed to find new ones.  Or, worse yet, they just asked the same ones over again.  Sansa just nervously smiled at him each time a new volley came his way.  So, against every fiber of his being, Sandor played the role of the dutiful boyfriend, taking a deep breath and answering each and every one of Bran and Rickon’s questions.  Repeatedly.

Finally finding a moment of solace, Sandor leaned his head back as he stretched out his long, muscular legs, his eyes feeling slightly heavy, his hands neatly folded on his chest.  _Might be I could sneak a nap in if no one comes looking for me._   He inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling the most relaxed he had all day.

Unfortunately for Sandor, just as he was about to drift away into golden slumbers, the French doors burst open, Jon and Rickon dashing outside, running down the stairs of the deck to the lawn just off the side of the pool area.  Arya was hot on their heels, yelling something about whose team she was playing on, throwing a football onto the ground and kicking it toward Jon.  As Sandor watched the three begin to play, Robb sauntered out onto the deck, shooting Sandor an icy glare as he walked by, and joined his siblings in the yard.

“Hey,” Sansa smiled as she too came outside, “We’re going to play a little game of soccer until dinner is ready.  You want to join us?”

“It’s football, girl, not soccer,” Sandor teased, “And no, I think I’ll just watch from up here.”

“Aw, c’mon,” she whined, jutting her lip out to increase the pitifulness, “It’ll be fun!”

Sandor just looked at her with his one eyebrow raised.

“Fine, have it your way,” she huffed in mock annoyance, placing her hands on the arms of the chair on either side of Sandor, leaning down to place a rather less-than-chaste kiss on his lips, “I could make it worth your while later…” she teased, wagging her ginger eyebrows at him.

“If you think I’m touching you while I’m a guest in your parents’ home this weekend, you’ve bloody well gone mad,” Sandor chuckled darkly, “Your father and that uppity big brother of yours would have my head on a spike.  Or, better yet, they’d give it your damned irritating little sister as a trophy.”

Laughing at his assessment, Sansa leaned in for one more quick kiss before bounding down the steps to join in the game.  “Chicken!” she yelled at him over her shoulder.

Amused at her public display of affection, Sandor watched the siblings argue, laugh, and simply enjoy being together.  Having lost his sister at such a young age, his thoughts drifted to Elspeth.  He imagined her being thrilled that he had found Sansa.  _I know you’re up there, love, looking down on me.  I know you’re happy for me.  She’s a wonderful girl.  I promise I won’t fuck it up…well, at least not on purpose._

As the French doors opened yet again, Ned came out on the deck, two beers in his hand.

“Care if I join you?” he asked Sandor, offering one of the cold, dark beverages to him.

“Not if you’re bringing me one of those,” Sandor replied with a smile, taking the opened beer as Ned sat in the Adirondack beside him.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes, sipping their beers, watching the game.  Finally, Ned spoke.

“So, Sandor,” Ned began, turning his attention toward him, “Sansa tells me that you hope to open your own marital arts school one day.”

 _Here it comes_ , Sandor groaned inwardly.

“Yes, sir,” Sandor replied, taking a sip of his beer, “I’m saving money from my job at King’s Landing to do just that.  My friend and I, we plan to go into business together.  We already teach some private and small group classes.

“And how do you like working for the Lannisters?” Ned asked, his eyes narrowing as he waited for Sandor’s response.

“Ah, they’re alright, I guess,” Sandor answered, “Tyrion is a pain in the ass, but he’s fair.  And Jaime is a smug bastard at times, but he’s been good to me, so I can’t complain much.  I’m just glad I don’t work for their bastard of a father.  He’s a piece of work, that one.”

Ned smiled at his comment, his head shaking in agreement.

 _I guess I answered correctly_ , Sandor thought to himself.

“Sansa says she’s enjoying learning marital arts under your tutelage,” Ned continued his inquiry.

 _Tutelage?  Who the hell says things like that?_ “She’s a natural, a real fast learner,” Sandor said proudly, “She’s a tough young lady, that’s for sure,” he added, smirking as he took a long sip of his beer, trying not to think about how he had taken her on the mat in his gym not 24 hours ago.  Taken her in a really enjoyable way, that is.

Placing his bottle of beer down on the end table, Ned reached up to rub his blonde beard as he asked, “Do you love my daughter, Sandor?”

Sandor sat up quickly, choking on his beer, “Sir?” he managed to cough.

“Sansa tells me that you hate liars and that you’re a man of few words,” Ned continued, “Me too.  So, I’m getting right to the point.  Do you love my daughter?”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sandor’s gaze floated to the yard where Sansa was playing football with her siblings.  Her long, copper tresses were pulled back into a low, messy ponytail, the stray locks of her hair dancing in the light evening breeze.  She was laughing loudly with Jon and Arya, her head thrown back in sheer delight.  From the yard, she glanced up to the deck where he sat, catching Sandor’s stare.  She smiled broadly, waving slightly in his direction.

“Yes, sir,” Sandor replied to Ned’s question, his eyes not leaving Sansa and his lips curving into a small smile, “Yes, I do.”

“She’s never had a real boyfriend, you know,” Ned added, “She’s always been so driven to succeed in school.  Her mother and I have always been proud of her accomplishments.”

“I’m sure you are,” Sandor said as he exhaled, his steel gray eyes now meeting Ned’s.  Even though Sandor had expected Ned to get into his business at some point, he was surprised that Ned was on the attack so early in the game.  Sandor was certain that if this line of inquiry continued much longer, he would be unable to hide his growing exasperation any further.

“Look, Sandor, I’m not trying to bust your balls,” Ned laughed, leaning forward to smack Sandor on the arm, “I’m her father.  I want her to be happy.  It’s my job to interrogate you, you know.”

With that comment, Sandor couldn’t help but feel more at ease.  “Yes, sir, I understand.  If I were you, sitting there looking at the likes of me, I’d have called the authorities by now.  You’re being very generous.”

Ned dropped his head, laughing loudly at Sandor’s self-deprecating humor, “Listen, son, as long as you treat my daughter the way she deserves to be treated, you and I will not have any issues.  You must be a good man, Sandor Clegane.  My daughter would not be with you otherwise.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Sandor said, feeling completely flummoxed.  His head was swimming with the realization that Sansa’s father just gave him permission to stick around and date his beautiful, smart daughter.  And he called him a good man.  _I’ve died and entered a parallel universe._

“It’s Ned.  Call me Ned.”

“Yes, sir.  I mean, yes, Ned.  Thank you, sir…Ned.”

Chuckling at Sandor’s fumble, Ned stood, grabbing his empty beer, grinning widely at Sandor, “Well, I best go back inside to check on my lovely wife and see what’s taking so long.  I’m famished.  Keep them straight out here for me, would you?”

“Absolutely,” Sandor replied as Ned patted Sandor’s shoulder twice before going back inside the house.

Shaking his head in disbelief that Sansa’s father vaguely approved of his relationship with her, Sandor put his empty beer on the table.  He saw Robb arguing with Jon, apparently refusing to accept that Jon had earned the last goal.  Rickon and Arya were busying themselves by kicking the ball back and forth while Sansa attempted to mediate her brothers’ sibling rivalry.

“Fuck it,” he smiled, jumping out of his chair.  As he walked down the steps of the deck, Sandor yelled to Sansa, “Is it too late to join you?”

“Sandor!” she replied, her pony tail whipping around, a huge smile on her pretty face, “Are you going to play?”

“He’s on my team!” Rickon shouted, “I called it!”

“No way, he’s playing with me,” Jon smiled.

“Just because he’s good at karate doesn’t mean he’s good at soccer, you idiots,” Robb huffed, obviously trying to make sure Sandor knew his place.

“You’re just worried that he’ll kick your ass, Robb,” Arya smirked as she shot a wink at Sandor.  _Now isn’t that interesting?  The little wolf is on my side all of a sudden._

“Would you all just be quiet?” Sansa declared, stalking toward Sandor while blatantly swaying her hips more than necessary, “He’s mine, and I’m not going to share.”  With that declaration, she stood on her toes, pulling Sandor down by his t-shirt to meet her lips.  As they kissed, he could hear Arya groan in disgust and Jon make a wolf whistle.  As they broke apart slowly, Sandor glanced out of the corner of his eyes at Robb.  Sandor knew that if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man right now.

“All right, you bunch of nancies,” Sandor teased, his eyes now staring deeply into Sansa’s, “Let me show you how real football is done.”

For the first time in forever, Sandor felt like he belonged.  And much to Arya’s delight, he did kick Robb’s finely sculpted ass in football…not soccer.

_Starks, three; Clegane, two._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have followed Sandor and Sansa through their journey in this story. I truly have appreciated all of your kind words and support! It is my hope that you will enjoy my other past, present, and future works just as much!
> 
> Because this was the first fanfiction that I ever wrote, these characters have a very special place in my heart. Don't be surprised if I come back to revisit them from time to time! Hint, hint...


End file.
